THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


UNCLE  JOHN'S 


THIRD    BOOK. 


3ltoataifeft  tnitlj  tituroims 


NEW  YORK : 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  443  &  445  BROADWAY. 

1865. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

D.  APPLETOX  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TZ6 


PREFACE  TO  UNCLE  JOHN'S  THIRD  BOOK. 


DEAR  LITTLE  CHILDREN  I 

HAVE  you  read  Uncle  John's  First  and 
Second  Books  ?  Have  you  looked  at  all  the 
pretty  pictures,  and  learned  all  the  stories 
about  them  ?  Has  your  dear  mother,  sister, 
or  aunt  taken  you  upon  her  knee,  and  read 
to  you  all  the  little  tales  which  are  in  the 
books,  or  are  you  such  good  studious  children, 
that  you  can  take  a  book  yourself  and  read, 
when  there  are  no  long  words  to  twist  up 
your  dear  little  tongues,  and  puzzle  your  dear 
little  brains?  Perhaps  you  have  read  the 
two  volumes  through  many  times,  till  you 

622816 


IV  PREFACE. 

can  tell  the  stoiy  to  every  picture  to  your 
baby  brothers  and  sisters.  If  so,  I  am  sure 
you  are  ready  for  some  new  tales  and  pictures, 
tales  full  of  sweet  thoughts,  and  words  to 
make  you  love  gentleness  and  truth,  pictures 
that  will  teach  you  something  new  worth 
learning.  And  so,  knowing  that  to  a  good 
child  there  is  no  present  so  valuable  as  a 
new  book,  Uncle  John  offers  you  his  Third 
Book,  full  of  fresh  stories  and  pictures.  As 
he  hopes  you  have  studied  hard,  and  learned 
many  things  since  you  read  his  last  book,  he 
has  given  you  a  few  harder  words  and  longer 
sentences,  to  try  your  scholarship.  Promising 
that  if  you  like  his  third  book,  he  will  not 
forget  you,  but  soon  give  you  a  still  newer 
one,  he  signs  himself, 

UlSTCLE  JOHX. 


CONTENTS. 


The  Farm  Yard,          .......  7 

The  New  Brother,             ......  9 

The  Snow,       ........  12 

Humanity  towards  Insects,          .....  15 

The  Ship, 16 

How  to  enjoy  a  Holiday,              .....  18 
The  Little  Dog  that  Loved  his  Mistress,      .           .           .            .22 

Work, 24 

The  Other  Name  for  Keal  Politeness,  .  .  .  .26 

Bunker  Hill  Monument,    ......  31 

The  Stray  Lamb,        .......  32 

To  a  Lady  Bird,     .......  38 

The  Beaver,     ........  41 

The  Value  of  Truth,          ......  42 

The  Happy  Rabbit,     .......  48 

Esquimaux  and  their  Huts,          .....  51 

The  Contrary  Boy,     .            .            .            .           .           .           . "  53 

The  Camel,             .......  63 

Little  Jessie  and  her  New  Shilling,  .  .  .  .66 

The  Old  Woman  by  the  Wood,    .....  72 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

How  to  be  Good,        .......      74 

Stroll  on  the  Sea  Shore,  ......  81 

How  to  Make  a  Kite, 86 

The  Use  of  a  Needle, 90 

The  Mouse  who  wanted  to  See  the  World,  .  .  .94 

Conscience,  .......  99 

The  Orphan  Boy's  Tale,        .  .  .  .  .  .101 

Amy's  Garden,      .......          104 

The  Clever  Boy,         .  .  .  .  .  .  .106 

The  Chinaman,      .......          114 

The  Wilful  Boy, 117 

The  Grizzly  Bear,  ......          122 

The  Pet  Frogs, 124 

An  Indian  Wigwam,          ......          133 

The  Worsted  Stocking,         .  .  .  .  .  .136 

On  the  Sea,  .......          145 

Little  Things,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .147 

The  Balloon,          .......          156 

A  Story  of  Christmas,  .  .  .  .  .  .158 

Wishing,     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .165 

TheApteryx,  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .167 

Mary  Thompson,   .......          168 

How  Books  are  Made,  .  .  .  .  .  .180 

How  Harry  Dixon  began  to  Think,         ....          184 

An  Aquarium,  .......    189 

That  is  a  Boy  I  can  Trust,  .....          192 

The  Bad  Clock, 194 

The  Great  Auk, 197 

Androcles  and  the  Lion,        ......    198 

The  Two  Artists,   .......          205 


UNCLE  JOHN'S  THIRD  BOOK. 


THE    F  AKM- YARD. 

THIS  is  a  Farm-yard.     Come,  good  girls 
and  boys,  John  will  show  you  all  that  is  in 


8  UNCLE    j  OHN'S 

the  Farm-yard.  Look,  Rose,  at  the  red  Cow ; 
when  the  maid  milks  her  you  may  have  a 
cup  of  the  nice  fresh  new  milk. 

No  beast  that  God  gives  to  man  is  of  more 
use  to  him  than  the  Cow.  The  poor  man  can 
live  well,  if  he  can  keep  a  good  Cow.  Milk 
makes  a  great  part  of  the  food  of  the  poor, 
and  boys  and  girls  like  milk  more  than  tea. 
Then  the  cream  can  be  sold  to  buy  bread. 
The  rich  buy  the  cream  from  the  poor  to  use 
for  their  tea,  and  for  their  cook  to  make  good 
things.  The  flesh  of  the  Cow  is  beef,  which  is 
good  food.  The  thick  and  strong  skin  of  the 
Cow  is  of  great  use  to  make  boots  and  shoes ; 
the  bones  are  of  use  for  spoons  and  such 
small  things,  and  the  horns  and  the  hoofs  help 
to  make  glue. 

So  you  must  see  how  much  we  ought  to 
thank  God  for  the  Cow. 

See,  the  farmers  are  loading  the  carts  with 
the  hay  which  was  cut  this  morning ;  they  will 


THIRD     BOOK. 


work  all  day  to  get  the  hay  into  the  large 
barn  you  see  by  the  farm-house,  so  that  when 
summer  is  over,  there  will  still  be  plenty  of 
food  for  the  horses,  cows,  and  sheep. 


THE     NEW     BROTHER. 

"  COME  and  look  here,  Mary.  I  have  some- 
thing to  show  you  that  will  make  you  very 
happy." 

"Oh,  nurse,  what  is  it?" 

"  Come  and  see  what  I  have  got  in  my  lap." 

"  A  baby !  Oh,  nurse,  whose  baby  is  it  ? 
Where  did  you  get  it  ? " 

"  It  is  your  little  brother,  my  dear  child. 
God  has  given  it  to  your  mamma,  and  it  is 
come  to  live  in  the  nursery  with  you  and  me." 

"  Oh  how  delightful !  What,  always  to 
stay  here  ?  My  little  brother !  I  cannot  under- 
stand it  at  all.  I  shall  be  too  happy." 


10  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

"  Gently,  my  dear  child.  You  will  be  very 
happy  I  am  sure,  but  not  too  happy,  I  hope. 
Now  look  at  him,  and  keep  quiet  at  my  knee ; 
for  your  mamma  is  not  well,  and  you  must 
not  make  a  noise." 

"  Oh,  nurse,  let  me  go  and  see  dear  mamma." 

"  You  shall  go  by-and-by,  my  dear ;  but  not 
now.  Sit  and  look  at  your  little  brother; 
and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  him." 

"  Oh,  nurse,  he  is  lovely.  Only  so  very  tiny, 
and  he  keeps  his  eyes  shut  so  fast." 

"  He  will  soon  grow  bigger ;  and  when  his 
eyes  are  open,  you  will  see  they  are  pretty 
bright  blue." 

"  May  he  have  a  bit  of  my  cake,  nurse  ?  I 
have  such  a  nice  one  in  the  plate  that  Aunt 
Jane  gave  me." 

"  He  cannot  eat,  my  dear  child  ;  he  has  no 
teeth  yet.  He  will  live  on  milk  for  a  long 
time.  See  how  feeble  he  is.  His  little  hands 
can  hold  nothing  yet ;  and,  if  I  were  to  put 


THIRD     BOOK.  11 

him  on  the  ground,  he  would  fall  down  and 
have  no  power  to  move  himself." 

"  Then  is  he  ill,  nurse  ?  What  makes  him 
so  very  weak  \ " 

"  You  were  just  the  same,  Mary,  when  you 
were  first  Iborn.  And  for  many  months  you 
lay  as  he  does  now,  a  helpless  baby  on  the  lap 
or  in  the  arms.  But  we  took  care  of  you. 
We  carried  you  while  you  could  not  walk, 
and  your  dear  mamma  fed  you  whilst  you 
could  not  eat.  She  taught  you  to  step  when 
you  grew  stronger,  and  held  you  that  you  might 
not  fall  and  hurt  yourself.  At  last  you  could 
walk,  and  your  mouth  was  full  of  pretty 
white  teeth,  so  that  you  could  eat.  You  will 
see  how  helpless  your  little  brother  is ;  and 
you  may  be  quite  sure  that  all  the  pains 
and  care  that  we  take  of  him  were  once  taken 
with  yourself  by  your  dear  mamma  and  me." 

"  Well,  nurse,  it  is  very  strange  !  I,  that  now 
can  run  and  eat  so  well.  It  does  not  seem  as 


12  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

if  I  ever  could  have  been  so  tiny  and  so  weak. 
You  will  let  me  help  you  to  take  care  of  my 
little  brother,  will  you  not,  dear  nurse  ?  O,  I 
shall  love  him  so  much.  He  shall  have  all 
my  toys  and  playthings.  And  I  will  do  all  I 
can  to  make  him  happy.  How  good  God  has 
been  to  give  me  a  little  brother." 


THE   SNOW. 

"  O  ROBERT,  dear  Robert,  come  to  the  win. 
dow.  Only  look  at  the  garden  and  the  hills." 

"  Well,  Charles,  it  is  only  snow.  Did  you 
never  see  any  before  ?  I  thought,  at  least,  that 
the  summer-house  had  fallen  down ;  or  that 
James  had  been  cutting  down  the  birch-tree." 

"  Well ;  but  what  shall  we  do  ?  You  know 
we  were  to  have  gone  on  the  pond  to-day  to 
slide,  and  now  I  am  sure  we  shall  not  be  able 
to  find  our  way  there." 


THIRD     BOOK.  13 

"  We  could  not  slide  well  with  all  this  snow 
on  the  ice,  even  if  we  could  find  our  way; 
and  I  dare  say  papa  would  not  like  us  to 
try.  But  we  can  have  just  as  much  fun  in 
another  way,  now  the  snow  is  come ;  and  we 
shall  be  able  to  slide  again  many  times  before 
the  winter  is  over,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  Well,  what  can  we  do  ? " 

"  Why,  make  a  snow-man,  to  be  sure,  and 
then  pelt  him  down  again  with  snowballs. 
And  pelt  one  another,  and  have  all  sorts  of 
games  with  the  snow.  I  am  quite  glad  it  is 
come.  Make  haste  down." 

"  Oh  no,  I  don't  care  for  that ;  I  want  to 
slide." 

"Now,  dear  Charles,  don't  be  silly.  You 
don't  know  how  happy  we  shall  be,  and  how 
warm  we  shall  get.  Don't  fret  for  what  can- 
not be  helped." 

But  in  vain  Robert  talked,  for  Charles  was 
so  silly  as  to  sit  down  and  cry,  because  he 


14 

could  not  enjoy  the  pleasure  lie  had  set  his 
heart  upon,  and  he  let  Robert  go  out  into  the 
garden  all  alone,  and  sat  sobbing  at  the  win- 
dow. But  Robert  ran  about,  and  had,  as  he 
said,  fine  fun.  He  made  a  large  snow-man, 
and  as  there  was  a  sharp  frost,  the  snow  was 
hard  and  firm.  Then  he  made  a  high  wall  of 
snow,  and  pretended  his  man  was  a  soldier 
behind  it.  And,  with  a  heap  of  snowballs 
by  his  side,  he  set  to  work  and  cannonaded 
the  wall  till  it  came  down,  man  and  all.  But, 
as  papa  told  him,  his  poor  soldier  had  not 
fair  play,  because  you  now  he  could  not 
return  the  firing.  At  last,  he  was  quite  hot 
and  tired  with  his  sport,  and  came  in-doors, 
and  there  he  found  Charles  cross  and  cold. 
Cross  with  himself  because  he  had  not  gone 
out  to  play  with  Robert,  and  cross  even  with 
everybody  round  him.  And  cold,  because 
he  had  sat  still  by  the  fire,  which  is  not  at 
all  the  best  way  of  warming  one's  self  in  the 


THIED      BOOK.  15 

winter.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  lie  got  into  a 
better  state  of  mind  at  night,  when  he  said 
his  prayers,  and  he  resolved  not  to  be  so  silly 
another  day. 


HUMANITY    TOWARDS    INSECTS. 

TURN,  turn,  thy  hasty  foot  aside, 
Nor  crush  that  helpless  worm ; 

The  frame  thy  scornful  thoughts  deride, 
From  God  receiv'd  its  form. 

The  common  Lord  of  all  that  move, 
From  whom  thy  being  flow'd, 

A  portion  of  his  boundless  love 
On  that  poor  worm  bestow'd 

The  Sun,  the  Moon,  the  Stars  HE  made 

To  all  his  creatures  free ; 
And  spreads  o'er  earth  the  grassy  blade, 

For  worms  as  well  as  thee. 


16  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

Let  them  enjoy  their  little  day, 
Their  humble  bliss  receive ; 

Oh  !  do  not  lightly  take  away 
The  life  thou  canst  not  give. 


THE    SHIP. 


COME  with  me  to  the  beach,  John  and  Tom, 
and  we  will  look  at  the  large  Ship  now  in 
sight,  for  it  will  soon  sail  past  us.  Though  it 
seems  so  near  to  us,  it  is  at  least  a  mile  from 


T  HIED      BOOK.  1 

us.  It  sails  on  the  smooth  sea,  with  its  white 
sails  spread  to  the  sun,  as  if  no  harm  could 
ever  come  to  it.  But  we  know  that  the  wind 
may  rise,  and  the  waves  may  dash  on  that 
strong  Ship  till  it  breaks  with  their  weight. 
Or  a  storm  may  drive  it  to  some  rough  rocks, 
that  may  break  the  fair  Ship  in  pieces,  till  it 
is  lost  in  the  waves,  and  all  the  brave  men 
who  now  guide  it  on  its  way  may  sink  to 
death. 

Let  us  pray  God  to  watch  and  spare  the 
Ship  and  its  brave  crew,  who  cross  the  seas 
to  bring  stores  for  us. 

A  ship  is  of  great  use,  for  you  know  there 
are  a  great  many  countries  in  the  world  that 
men  wish  to  see,  and  a  great  many  of  the 
useful  things  that  are  in  our  houses  are 
brought  from  distant  countries.  Tea  comes 
from  China;  coffee  and  sugar  are  brought 
from  the  "West  Indies ;  rice  and  cotton  from 
India;  oranges  and  lemons  from  Spain; 
2 


18  UNCLE    j  o  HN'S 

apples,  plums,  and  grapes  from  France  ;  even 
butter  and  eggs  are  brought  over  from 
Ireland  in  Ships ;  and  thus  we  obtain  many 
good  things  from  other  nations,  and  are  able 
to  send  them  back  corn,  and  coal,  and  hard- 
ware, and  cotton  goods  which  we  have,  in 
exchange,  which  we  could  not  do  without 
Ships. 


HOW    TO    ENJOY   A    HOLIDAY. 

"  How  merry  you  seem,  Ralph,  over  your 
work.  Do  not  you  get  very  tired  of  sitting 
here  day  after  day  mending  old  shoes  and 
boots  ?  Every  morning  when  I  go  by  to 
school  you  are  hard  at  work,  and  at  night  as 
I  go  home  and  look  in  at  your  window,  there 
you  are  stitching  or  knocking  away  as  busy 
as  a  bee.  Don't  you  long  to  go  out  in  the 
fields  and  lanes  ?  Oh,  if  I  were  a  man  like 


THIRD     BOOK.  19 

you,  I  would  not  stay  in-doors  this  "bright 
summer  through.  But  I  would  rise  with  the 
lark,  and  be  off  amongst  the  cowslips  and  the 
blue-bells,  or  lose  myself  in  the  shady  woods 
where  the  birds  are  singing  so  sweetly,  and 
never  go  to  school,  or  work,  or  do  any  thing 
but  amuse  myself  from  morning  till  night." 

"And  then,  Master  Tom,  you  would  not  be 
half  so  happy  as  I  am.  For  you  would  not 
be  doing  your  duty.  Do  you  think  you 
were  sent  into  this  world  for  nothing  but 
to  amuse  yourself?  And  would  it  be  right 
to  think  only  of  your  own  pleasure  ?  But, 
even  if  it  were,  I  do  not  believe  you  would 
find  it  in  idleness.  No  one  can  be  really  hap- 
py who  is  doing  wrong.  And  to  waste  time 
cannot  be  right.  How  do  you  feel,  when 
you  are  coming  home  from  school  at  night, 
when  you  have  been  a  good  boy  all  day  ? " 

"  Well,  very  happy,  Kalph. " 


20  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

"  Yes,  happier  than  you  do  at  the  end  of  a 
whole  holiday ;  do  you  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do ;  for  then  I  am  tired  and 
sorry  it  is  over." 

"  Ah,  Master  Tom,  depend  upon  it  people 
are  never  so  happy  as  when  they  are  doing 
their  duty,  even  if  that  duty  is  hard  work,  as 
it  must  often  be  in  this  world.  There  is 
always  a  sort  of  pleasure  mixed  up  with  it 
that  is  never  found  in  idleness  or  wrong-doing. 
When  I  sit  here  in  my  little  room  the  sun 
looks  in  upon  me  with  such  a  bright  ray,  it 
is  almost  as  if  he  smiled  at  me.  And  the 
linnet  in  the  cage  sings  me  a  happy  song,  and 
Peter,  the  little  raven,  sits  and  watches  how  I 
get  on.  And  the  flowers  in  the  window  give  a 
pleasant  scent.  So  that  I  have  the  sunshine,  and 
birds  and  flowers,  without  going  from  my 
work.  And,  if  I  make  haste  and  can  get 
done  in  time,  I  often  can  patch  up  an  old 
pair  of  shoes  for  a  poor  neighbor  without 


THIKDBOOK.  21 

charge.  And  that  you  may  be  sure  is  a  good 
plan  for  ending  my  day  happily.  Then  on 
Sundays,  those  blessed  days  of  rest,  I  can 
walk  in  the  fields  and  enjoy  all  their  beauty 
with  a  light  heart." 

"  Well,  Ralph,  I  dare  say  you  are  right ;  and 
so  I  will  try  to  do  as  you  do,  and  get  through 
my  day's  work  cheerfully.  For,  after  all,  I 
should  not  like  to  grow  up  a  dunce,  as  I 
certainly  should  if  I  played  about  all  day 
instead  of  going  to  school.  So  I  will  not 
waste  my  time  talking  any  more,  but  run  off 
at  once.  Only  tell  me  how  you  made  Peter 
so  tame." 

"  Why,  Master  Tom,  I  found  him  one  Sun- 
day afternoon  lying  in  the  old  churchyard,  un- 
der the  wall.  He  was  very  young,  and  the  nest 
by  some  accident  had  fallen  down  with  him 
in  it.  He  was  too  young  to  fly,  and  I  brought 
him  home  and  fed  him  with  a  spoon.  He 
soon  grew  tame ;  and  now,  though  he  is  fully 


22  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

fledged,  lie  will  not  leave  me.  I  think  he 
even  loves  me;  for  you  see,  Master  Tom,  I 
have  been  a  sort  of  father  to  him." 

"  I  am  sure  he  ought  to  love  you,  Ralph,  for 
taking  such  good  care  of  him.  Now  good-bye, 
I  am  really  going." 

"  So  do,  Master  Tom,  and  pray  stop  in  your 
way  home,  and  tell  me  whether  you  have  had 
a  happy  day.  But  mind  you  must  work 
hard:1 

"So  I  will,  Ralph." 


THE    LITTLE    DOG    THAT    LOVED    HIS    MISTKESS. 

I  HAD  once  a  little  dog  that  I  loved  very 
much.  He  was  always  with  me,  and  was 
quite  my  companion.  I  used  to  call  him  my 
four-footed  friend.  He  loved  me  better  than 
any  one  else  in  the  house,  and  would  not  eat 
his  dinner  if  I  was  not  at  home  to  give  it  to 


THIRD     BOOK.  23 

him.  But  I  did  not  often  leave  him  behind 
me,  for  he  was  so  good  and  gentle  that  all  my 
friends  were  glad  to  see  him.  He  did  not 
like  water,  I  mean  swimming  in  water,  and  it 
was  always  needful  to  throw  him  in  when  he 
was  to  have  a  bath  ;  for  he  would  not  take  it 
of  his  own  accord.  But  once,  when  I  was 
out  with  a  party  of  friends,  and  some  of  us 
got  into  a  boat  upon  the  river,  little  Elfin  was 
left  to  run  beside  us  on  the  bank.  But  so 
much  was  he  afraid  of  losing  his  dear  mistress, 
that  he  plunged  into  the  water  and  came 
swimming  after  us.  His  love  for  me  was 
stronger  than  his  fear  of  the  water.  And, 
dripping  as  he  was,  we  were  obliged  to  take 
him  into  the  boat.  I  could  not  be  angry 
with  him,  for  it  was  so  pleasant  to  be  the 
object  of  such  faithful  love.  Poor  little  dog, 
he  is  not  here  now ;  and  sorely  do  I  miss  him 
and  his  pretty  ways.  He  grew  very  ill  one 
day.  We  went  for  the  (Jog  doctor,  who  did 


24 


UNCLE     JOHNS 


all  he  could  to  save  him ;  but  it  was  of  no  use, 
for  he  died  at  the  end  of  the  third  day.  He 
lies  buried  in  the  garden,  under  a  little  fir- 
tree,  and  even  Baby  will  not  set  his  tiny  foot 
upon  poor  "  Bow-wow's  grave." 


WORK. 


Do  you  see  this  band  of  negroes  working  ? 
They  are  carrying  bags  of  coffee,  rice,  sugar, 
and  spice  upon  their  heads  from  the  wharf  to 


THIED      BOOK.  25 

the  great  ship  which  you  see  lying  at  the  land- 
ing. It  is  hard  work  to  carry  such  heavy  bur- 
dens through  the  heat  of  the  day  in  Southern 
climates,  yet  the  negro  toils  uncomplainingly 
and  patiently.  Let  us  hope  that  they  will 
have  a  good  meal  and  a  soft  bed  to  rest  upon 
after  their  clay's  toil.  There  is  no  rest  so 
sweet  as  that  which  follows  work,  when  the 
tired  body  is  refreshed  by  well-earned  labor. 
The  idle  and  lazy  never  enjoy  this  rest.  Idle- 
ness is  well  named  the  parent  of  all  vice. 

It  is  the  will  of  God  that  no  one  should  waste 
time  in  this  world.  He  has  said  that  all  must 
work.  Rich  and  poor,  young  and  old,  all 
have  their  work  to  do.  The  poor  man  works 
that  he  may  live :  the  rich  man  lives  that  he 
may  work :  the  poor  man  works  with  his 
hands,  the  rich  man  with  his  head ;  but  both 
must  work  to  do  God's  will. 

Your  work  is  to  learn  well,  and  with  all 
your  heart.  To  think  is  to  work ;  to  read  is 


26  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

to  work ;  to  pray  is  to  work ;  to  do  the  will 
of  God  and  of  those  who  teach  you,  is  to  work. 
You  live  for  this,  and  you  must  not  waste  one 
hour  of  life,  or  when  death  is  near,  you  will 
think  with  grief  on  that  lost  hour. 

Think  on  these  things,  my  child,  and  learn 
when  you  are  young,  that  you  may  do  the 
will  of  God  in  life,  and  feel  peace  in  death. 


THE    OTHER    NAME   FOR    REAL    POLITENESS. 

POLITENESS  is  a  very  necessary  and  valu- 
able accomplishment,  or  rather  I  should  say 
quality,  and  no  one  should  think  it  beneath 
him  to  be  polite.  But  when  I  speak  of  its 
being  valuable,  I  mean  real  true  politeness, 
and  not  those  artificial  manners  which  are 
taught  and  learnt  as  mere  matters  of  outward 
show;  just  like  those  tricks  which  one  can 
teach  to  a  dog  or  monkey,  and  which  are  very 


THIKD     BOOK.  2 

amusing  in  them,  but  worse  than  laughable 
in  a  rational  creature. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  which  will 
show  what  I  mean  by  real  politeness.  And 
I  think  we  shall  find  that  it  is,  after  all,  less 
an  accomplishment  than  a  quality  of  the  mind 
or  heart.  For  an  accomplishment  is  some- 
thing that  we  learn,  something  we  acquire ; 
but  true  politeness  springs  from  the  very  heart. 

Little  Sydney  was  a  boy  of  about  eight 
years  old.  He  went  to  school,  and  learnt 
dancing  and  drilling,  and  I  know  not  what 
besides,  in  order  to  teach  him  manners,  or  to 
make  him  polite.  And  no  boy  could  make 
a  better  bow  than  Sidney ;  and  as  to  taking 
the  wall  of  a  lady,  dear,  dear,  he  would  have 
run  under  the  very  horses'  heads  in  the  street, 
rather  than  think  of  such  a  thing. 

One  day,  he  was  going  to  school  on  a  danc- 
ing afternoon,  and  he  was  dressed  all  in  his 
best,  and  looking  very  smart  indeed,  when  he 


28  UNCLEJO  HN'S 

met  a  poor  beggar  woman.  She  was  old  and 
almost  blind,  and  her  clothes  were  ragged 
and  dirty.  Sidney  was  not  yet  perhaps  old 
enough  to  have  learned,  as  he  ought,  to  love 
the  poor  for  whom  Jesus  when  on  earth  cared 
so  greatly ;  but  he  surely  should  have  shown 
some  of  his  politeness  to  this  poor  old  woman, 
at  least  so  far  as  to  give  her  the  wall.  For 
though  it  was  not  her  right,  according  to  the 
rules  of  artificial  politeness,  yet  it  is  always 
our  duty  to  give  way  to  those  older  or  more 
afflicted  than  ourselves.  But  Sidney's  polite- 
ness was  all  outward  show,  and  pushing  rude- 
ly past  the  old  woman,  he  almost  threw  her 
down  in  his  eagerness  to  thrust  her  from  the 
wall,  against  which  she  was  groping  her  way 
along.  A  few  steps  more,  and  he  met  Mary 
Lacey,  a  nice  little  girl  whom  everybody 
loved,  and  before  whom  Sidney  was  always 
very  anxious  to  show  off  his  good  manners. 
Oh,  then,  how  hastily  he  called  them  all  forth, 


THIRD     BOOK.  29 

and  with  hat  off,  and  foot  forward  in  the  veiy 
newest  style,  he  took  hold  of  the  little  lady's 
hand.  As  Mary  was  returning  from  the  er- 
rand on  which  she  was  bound  when  she  met 
Sydney,  she  also  came  upon  the  poor  old  beg- 
gar woman,  who  was  waiting  to  be  able  to 
cross  the  road.  "  Do  let  me  help  you,"  said 
Mary :  "  we  can  get  over  nicely  now,  and  if 
you  will  put  your  hand  on  my  shoulder  I 
will  lead  you  the  right  way." 

This  was  real  politeness :  it  came  from  the 
heart,  and  was  not  put  on  for  the  purpose  of 
display.  Mary  could  not  courtesy  so  graceful- 
ly as  Sidney  could  bow,  but  I  think  she  was 
more  really  polite.  She  had  that  true  polite- 
ness of  which  the  Scripture  name  is  Charity, 
or  Love. 


30 


UNCLE     JOHNS 


^; 


HILL    MO3TMEXT. 


THIRD  BOOK.  31 

BUNKER  HILL  MONUMENT. 

Tins  splendid  monument  is  on  Bunker 
Hill,  Charlestown,  Mass.  It  was  erected  at  a 
great  expense  to  mark  the  spot  where  a  great 
battle  was  fought  in  the  Revolution.  Perhaps 
you  have  heard  your  grandfather,  or  grand- 
mother, tell  of  the  hard  times  our  soldiers 
had,  and  how  bravely  they  bore  all  their 
sufferings,  in  order  that  our  country  should  be 
free.  All  American  children  should  love  to 
read  and  hear  about  those  times,  and  learn  all 
they  can  about  the  great  and  good  Washington. 
A  good  young  Frenchman  named  Lafayette 
came  to  this  country  to  help  us  to  fight  for 
our  liberty.  General  Washington  loved  him 
very  much,  and  so  did  all  our  soldiers;  and 
many  years  after  our  country  was  free,  he  came 
again  to  visit  it. 

On  this  occasion  the  first,  or  corner-stone  as 
it  is  called,  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument  was 


32  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

laid.  It  was  a  grand  scene.  Thousands  of 
people -were  in  the  streets  and  on  the  ground 
where  the  monument  now  stands.  Mr.  Web- 
ster made  the  speech,  and  the  ceremonies 
concluded  by  all  the  great  multitude  singing 
the  grand  tune  of  "  Old  Hundred." 


THE     STRAY     LAMB. 

THE  sun  was  going  down  slowly  into  the 
west,  behind  a  thick  curtain  of  golden  and 
purple  clouds,  when  a  little  lamb,  that  had 
long  looked  with  wandering  and  restless  eyes 
beyond  the  fences  of  his  peaceful  fold,  leaped 
softly  over  the  wattles,  and  stopping  with  a 
panting  heart  to  listen  if  his  mother  bleated 
to  call  him  back,  began  to  hurry  towards  a 
pleasant  hill  that  had  long  tempted  him  to  go 
astray.  But  his  mother  did  not  call  him. 
She  knew  not  that  he  had  left  her  side.  She 


THIRD     BOOK.  33 

had  lain  quietly  down  to  sleep,  and  was  dream- 
ing of  her  little  wandering  son,  who  was  al- 
ready far  away. 

On  and  on  he  went,  till  at  last  the  fold  to 
which  he  looked  back  was  quite  dim  in  the 
distance.  For  the  sun  was  now  gone  quite 
out  of  sight,  and  the  shades  of  evening  were 
falling  like  a  veil  around  him.  He  began  to 
be  afraid.  It  was  so  still  and  lonely.  He 
missed  the  pleasant  bleating  of  his  dear  com- 
panions that  was  like  sweet  music  as  they 
settled  down  to  sleep. 

His  mother's  side;  O  !  he  would  have  liked 
to  lie  down  by  it  now,  and  rest  his  little  wea- 
ry feet.  And  the  hill,  that  looked  so  tempt- 
ing when  gilded  by  the  light  of  day,  lay  black 
and  gloomy  before  him  in  the  twilight  hour. 

Poor  foolish  little  lamb,  why  did  you  wan- 
der from  your  best  friend  and  your  happy 
fold?  All  that  glitters  in  the  distance  is  not 
beautiful,  and  the  path  that  leads  you  from 

3 


34  UNCLE   jo  UN'S 

your  mother  and  your  home  cannot  be  the 
way  to  happiness. 

Now  by  the  side  of  this  hill  lay  a  thick 
grove  of  trees,  that  had  often  seemed  to  the 
little  lamb  as  one  of  the  sweetest  play-places 
that  could  be  found  on  earth.  He  had  watched 
the  bright  birds  sporting  over  its  waving  green, 
and  had  even  seen  the  wild  stag  couching 
at  its  entrance.  And  he  had  thought  how 
much  happier  he  should  be  gambolling  about 
amongst  the  shady  trees  than  always  feeding 
on  the  smooth  surface  of  his  well-known  fold. 
He  forgot  that  the  sun  does  not  always  shine ; 
that  birds  are  not  forever  on  the  wing ;  nor 
stags  the  only  wild  creatures  in  the  shady 
woods. 

It  was  now  night,  and  he  had  never  thought 
of  that,  nor  where  he  should  rest  when  absent 
from  his  mother's  pillow.  And  he  stopped 
and  listened  to  try  and  catch  some  familiar 
murmur  from  his  home  to  break  the  lonely 


THIRD     BOOK.  35 

silence  round  him.  But  either  the  fold  was 
too  distant,  or  the  sheep  were  already  fast 
asleep.  And  as  the  glow-worms  came  out 
upon  the  dewy  grass,  they  lighted  up  tears  in 
the  eyes  of  the  repentant  little  lamb. 

He  trembled,  and  was  afraid  to  move ;  for 
he  knew  not  which  way  to  go,  nor  where  he 
could  find  a  bed  to  screen  him  from  the  chil- 
ly evening  air.  And  there  came  a  sound  to 
his  ears  that  he  had  never  heard  before,  and 
yet  it  thrilled  him  to  the  very  heart  with  ter- 
ror, it  was  so  full  of  awful  meaning.  It  was 
the  howling  of  a  wolf.  And  he  thought  it 
came  nearer  as  he  listened.  Then  he  fell  up- 
on the  ground  in  an  agony,  and  had  no  longer 
power  to  run  away. 

But  the  good  shepherd  who  took  care  of 
the  sheep  in  that  happy  fold  was  coming  with 
his  faithful  dog  to  find  the  little  truant.  He 
had  been  to  count  his  sheep  and  lambs,  and 
one  was  missing.  A  tuft  of  white  wool  upon 


36  U  N  C  L  E     J  O  H  N  '  S 

the  top  of  the  fence  had  shown  him  where  the 
restless  little  lamb  had  leaped  over,  and  his 
dog  had  tracked  its  wandering  feet  to  the  very 
border  of  the  wood. 

Poor  little  lamb,  as  it  lay  and  panted  on  the 
ground,  and  heard  the  rustling  feet  of  the  good 
dog  corne  nearer  and  nearer,  it  gave  itself  up 
for  lost ;  for  it  thought  the  wolf  must  be  close 
at  hand.  But  the  dog  had  found  it  first,  and 
it  soon  lay  nestling  in  the  shepherd's  bosom, 
almost  too  happy  that  it  was  safe  once  more. 

The  wolf's  voice  was  heard  further  and  fur- 
ther in  the  distance  as  the  little  lamb  was  car- 
ried back  to  its  quiet  fold ;  and,  oh !  how  bless- 
ed a  refuge  did  its  fences  now  seem  to  enclose. 
No  more  a  prison,  as  it  had  once  seemed,  but 
a  very  nest  of  peace. 

His  mother  looked  up  in  wonder,  as  he  was 
laid  down  beside  her  by  the  good  shepherd  ; 
but  she  never  knew  how  nearly  she  had  lost 
him  forever.  Scarcely  would  he  ever  quit 


T  H  I  R  D     B  O  O  K  .  3? 

her  from  that  hour,  and  if  his  eyes  by  chance 
turned  towards  the  hill  and  wood  that  had 
been  so  all  but  fatal  to  him,  with  what  a  thrill 
of  ecstacy  would  he  think  of  his  present  safety, 
and  how  far  more  beautiful  was  the  happy 
fold  than  all  that  lay  beyond  it. 

Dear  little  children,  you  who  are  still  in  the 
house  of  your  father  and  your  mother,  think 
of  it  as  the  peaceful  fold,  where  like  little 
lambs  you  may  dwell  in  safety. 

Do  not  break  the  rules  that  are  set  around 
like  fences  to  enclose  you  more  securely :  nor 
fancy  that  forbidden  ways  must  lead  to  new 
pleasures.  It  has  never  yet  been  so,  and  nev- 
er will  it  be.  Only  in  the  fold  is  there  such 
safety  and  such  peace ;  for  beyond  it  there  are 
dangers  and  troubles  of  which  you  little  dream, 
and  there  is  not  always  a  kind  hand  near  to 
bring  home  little  wandering  lambs  in  safety. 


38  USTCLE    JOHN'S 


TO     A     LADY-BIKD. 

"  LADY-BIKD  !  Lady-bird !  fly  away  home," 
The  field-mouse  has  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  daisies  have  shut  up  their  sleepy  red  eyes, 
And  the  bees  and  the  birds  are  at  rest. 

"  Lady-bird !  Lady-bird !  fly  away  home," — 
The  glow-worm  is  lighting  her  lamp, 

The  dew's  falling  fast,  and  your  fine  speckled 

wings 
Will  flag  with  the  close-clinging  damp. 

"  Lady-bird !  Lady-bird !  fly  away  home," — 
Good  luck  if  you  reach  it  at  last, 

The  owl's  come  abroad,  and  the  bat's  on  the 

roam, 
Sharp  set  from  their  Ramagan  fast. 

"  Lady-bird  !  Lady-bird  !  fly  away  home," — 
The  fairy-bells  tinkle  afar, 


THIKD    BOOK.  39 

Make  haste,  or  they'll  catch  ye  and  harness  ye 

fast. 
With  a  cobweb  to  Oberon's  car. 

"  Lady-bird !  Lady-bird !  fly  away  home," — 
But  as  all  serious  people  do,  first 

Clear  your  conscience,  and  settle  your  world- 
ly affairs, 
And  so  be  prepared  for  the  worst. 

"  Lady-bird !  Lady-bird ! "  make  a  short  shrift, 
Here's  a  hair-shirted  Palmer  hard  by, 

And  here's  lawyer  Earwig  to  draw  up  your 

will, 
And  we'll  witness  it,  Death-moth  and  I. 

"Lady-bird !  Lady-bird ! "  don't  make  a  fuss, — 
You've  mighty  small  matters  to  give, 

Your  coral  and  jet,  and  .  .  .  there,  there  .  .  . 

you  can  tack 
A  codicil  on  if  you  live. 


40 


UNCLE     JOHNS 


"  Lady-bird !  Lady-bird ! "  fly  away  now, — 
To  your  house  in  the  old  willow-tree, 

Where  your  children,  so  dear,  have  invited 

the  ant, 
And  a  few  cozy  neighbors  to  tea 

"  Lady-bird !  Lady-bird !  fly  away  home," — 
And  if  not  gobbled  up  by  the  way, 

Nor  yoked  by  the  fairies  to  Oberon's  car, 
You're  in  luck — and  that's  all  I've  to  say. 


THIRD  BOOK.  41 

THE   BEAVER. 

THE  Beaver  is  only  found  in  the  cold  re- 
gions of  the  North  of  Asia ;  and  in  America, 
where  immense  numbers  are  caught,  for  the 
sake  of  their  skins,  which  are  of  value  in  mak- 
ing hats. 

In  summer  a  number  of  these  active  lit- 
tle creatures  meet  on  the  banks  of  a  still  pool 
or  narrow  river,  to  build  their  winter  houses. 
They  begin  by  damming  the  water,  by  gnaw- 
ing down  a  tree  with  their  sharp  teeth,  and 
letting  it  fall  across ;  this  bar  they  make  com- 
plete with  short  sticks  woven.  Then  they 
build  their  houses  of  sticks  and  stones,  on 
piles,  at  the  edge  of  the  stream,  and  plaster 
them  within  and  without  with  mud,  by 
means  of  their  flat,  long  tail.  So  neat,  well 
made,  and  smooth  are  these  houses,  that  you 
might  fancy  them  the  work  of  man.  In  these 
houses  they  store  food  for  winter ;  in  sum- 
mer they  live  on  berries,  herbs,  and  fruits. 


42  UNCLE   JOHN'S 


THE    VALUE    OF    TKUTH. 

"  WHO  broke  this  window,  children  ? "  said 
a  poor  woman,  as  she  ran  hastily  out  of  her 
cottage  on  hearing  a  pain  of  glass  smash. 

There  were  a  great  many  boys  and  girls 
playing  in  the  road  close  by,  and  when  they 
saw  the  woman  come  out  they  all  began  loud- 
ly to  declare  that  they  had  none  of  them 
done  it.  "  We  none  of  us  did  it ;  it  was  not 
any  of  us.  You  must  have  thrown  something 
against  it  yourself  in  the  house." 

All,  except  one  little  boy  who  looked  very 
pale  and  frightened ;  but  he  went  towards  the 
angry  woman  and  said,  "I  did  it.  I  am  very 
sorry,  it  was  broken  by  a  stick  which  sprung 
suddenly  out  of  my  hand." 

"  O,  you  did  it,  did  you,"  said  the  woman  ; 
"  and  pray  can  you  pay  for  it  ? " 

"No,"  said  the  little  boy;  "I  have  no 
money." 


THIRD     BOOK.  43 

"  Of  course  you  have  not,"  answered  the 
woman  angrily ;  "  and  so  I  shall  just  give  you 
this  to  make  you  remember  to  be  more  care- 
ful another  time."  And  seizing  the  poor  child, 
she  struck  him  several  hard  blows.  He  did 
not  cry,  however ;  and,  when  she  had  gone 
back  into  her  cottage,  the  other  children 
gathered  round  him. 

"  How  could  you  be  so  silly,  Arthur  ?  We 
all  said  we  did  not  do  it;  and  if  you  had 
not  gone  and  told  her  yourself,  she  would 
never  have  known  any  thing  about  it." 

"But  I  did  do  it,"  said  Arthur. 

"  Yes ;  but  it  was  not  you  any  more  than 
James,  for  he  was  pulling  your  hand,  and  that 
was  what  made  the  stick  fly  out  of  it." 

"  Well,  there  was  no  need  to  tell  of  James," 
answered  Arthur ;  "  it  was  my  stick." 

"  Well,"  cried  James,  "  I  am  veiy  glad  I 
did  not  tell  of  myself,  to  get  beaten  as  you  did. 
Are  not  you  very  sorry  now  that  you  told  ? " 


44  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

"  No,  for  if  I  had  said  I  did  not  do  it,  I 
should  have  told  a  lie.  And  if  I  had  been 
silent  while  all  of  you  were  saying  it  was 
none  of  us,  that  would  have  been  almost  if 
not  quite  as  wrong." 

The  other  children  laughed  at  Arthur;  and 
they  went  further  away  from  the  cottage  and 
began  to  play  again. 

You  will  see  by  this  story  that  Arthur  lov- 
ed the  truth,  and  feared  a  lie.  He  knew  that 
God  hates  liars;  and  he  was  never  half  so 
much  afraid  of  any  punishment  that  might 
come  upon  him  for  speaking  the  truth,  as  he 
was  of  incurring  the  anger  of  God  by  telling 
a  lie.  He  w^as  well  taught ;  and  he  knew, 
that  though  by  saying  he  had  done  something 
or  other  for  which  he  was  sure  to  be  punished, 
he  might  get  even  a  painful  beating,  yet  that 
the  pain  of  those  blows  would  soon  pass  away ; 
whilst  if  he  escaped  them  by  telling  a  lie.  it 
would  be  written  in  God's  book  of  remeni- 


THIRD     BOOK.  45 

"b ranee  and  stand  there  against  him.  Besides, 
even  without  bringing  this  awful  thought 
into  his  mind,  he  thought  it  was  cowardly  to 
tell  a  lie,  and  even  that,  in  the  end,  those  who 
always  spoke  the  truth  got  on  better  in  this 
world ;  and  the  course  of  his  after-life  made 
him  feel  this  still  more  strongly. 

At  school  he  was  known  and  thoroughly 
trusted  by  his  master,  who,  if  there  was  any 
doubt  about  any  thing  that  happened  amongst 
the  boys,  always  called  Arthur  up  to  tell  him 
exactly  the  facts  of  the  case ;  for  then  he  said  he 
should  know  just  what  was  the  matter  and 
who  was  to  blame.  And  when  he  left  school, 
and  was  placed  in  a  counting-house,  he  was 
so  truthful  and  exact  that  the  greatest  depend- 
ence was  placed  upon  him,  and  he  rapidly 
rose  in  his  employers  confidence.  One  day 
there  were  some  mistakes  in  one  of  the  books 
which  threw  all  the  accounts  into  disorder. 
The  principal  was  very  much  displeased,  and 


46  UNCLE   jo  UN'S 

began  inquiring  to  see  if  he  could  find  out 
how  the  original  mistake  had  happened,  and 
by  whom  it  was  made.  Arthur  set  to  work 
diligently  to  help  him,  and  at  last  found  that 
he  had  made  a  blunder  in  some  calculation, 
which  had  afterwards  been  copied  by  another 
clerk,  and  so  had  gone  on  through  the  differ- 
ent books  without  being  discovered.  Now  it 
would  have  been  easy  enough  to  let  the  blame 
rest  on  the  young  man  who  had  copied  it ; 
for  the  original  paper  was  in  Arthur's  own 
possession,  and  he  could  have  concealed  it. 
But  without  allowing  such  a  thought  to  cross 
his  mind,  he  ran  directly  and  went  nobly  to 
his  employer,  and  confessed  his  error  with 
much  regret.  The  gentleman  looked  up  with 
a  cleared  brow  at  Arthur,  and  said,  "  All  the 
trouble  this  has  caused  me  is  nothing  now 
I  have  the  satisfaction  of  finding  such  an 
honorable  man  in  my  employment.  My 
confidence  in  you  will  be  indeed  increased 
instead  of  lessened  by  this  event. 


THIRD     BOOK.  4 

Arthur  bowed  and  his  heart  was  full ;  but 
what  he  had  done  was  little  in  his  own  eyes ;  for 
he  had,  when  young,  acquired  so  strictly  the 
licMt  of  always  telling  the  truth  that  it  never, 
now  he  was  a  man,  occurred  to  him  to  do 
otherwise.  And  this,  dear  children,  is  one 
great  advantage  of  always  being  careful  to 
speak  the  exact  truth ;  the  habit  will  become 
so  natural  to  you,  that  you  will  soon  never 
think  of  doing  any  thing  else. 

Arthur  continued  for  many  years  in  the 
same  house,  and  at  last  was  made  a  partner 
by  his  grateful  master.  And,  when  he 
was  raised  to  this  dignity,  he  tried  to 
use  all  his  influence  over  the  clerks  they 
employed  to  induce  them  to  be  as  careful 
as  himself;  for,  he  would  often  say,  "  You  will 
not  have  half  so  much  trouble  if  you  tell  me 
the  truth  at  once :  for,  I  shall  be  sure  to  inquire 
very  closely  into  the  matter  if  I  think  you 
deceive  me,  and  you  will  have  to  make  up 


48  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

ever  so  many  tales  to  bear  out  what  you 
say.  It  is  unworthy  of  a  man,  or  even  a 
child,  and  most  sinful  before  God,  to  hide  the 
truth  by  a  lie." 


THE    HAPPY    BABBIT. 

JOHN  and  Kitty  have  a  pretty  white  rabbit. 
It  has  long  drooping  ears,  and  bright  spark- 
ling eyes.  John  himself  helped  to  make  its 
house  at  the  side  of  the  stable ;  and  he  took 
care  that  it  should  have  plenty  of  room  to  run 
about  in.  For  rabbits  are  wild  active  crea- 
tures, and  love  liberty  dearly.  If  you  have  ever 
seen  them  as  I  have  often,  frisking  about  on  a 
sunny  down,  now  darting  over  the  short  turf 
and  then  popping  into  their  holes — you  will 
know  at  once  how  hard  it  must  be  for  a  rab- 
bit to  be  shut  up  in  a  small  den,  where  he 
has  but  just  room  enough  to  turn  round,  and 


THIEDBOOK.  49 

where  the  only  peep  of  daylight  he  gets  is 
through  two  or  three  little  bars. 

John  and  Kitty  know  well  what  rabbits 
love,  and  though  their  pretty  pet  was  never  at 
liberty,  for  he  was  not  a  wild  rabbit,  yet  they 
try  all  they  can  to  give  him  those  enjoyments 
which  are  natural  to  him.  So  the  hutch  is 
made  very  roomy  and  large.  And  two  or 
three  times  a  day,  in  fine  weather,  he  is  taken 
out  of  his  house  and  allowed  to  run  about  a 
paved  yard,  to  stretch  his  legs  and  take  the 
air.  And  he  is  well  fed  with  wild  parsley 
and  bran,  and  lettuce  leaves,  and  all  sorts  of 
things  that  rabbits  love.  And  he  well  repays 
this  care  by  growing  very  fat  and  strong,  and 
by  loving  his  little  master  and  mistress  with 
all  his  bunny  heart.  When  he  hears  their 
steps  in  the  yard,  he  runs  directly  to  the  nice 
large  barred  window  John  made  for  him  that 
he  might  get  plenty  of  light,  and  puts  his 
white  nose  out  as  far  he  can  to  welcome  them. 
4 


50  UNCLE  JOHN'S 

Once  they  took  him  out  of  his  house,  and  carried 
him  into  a  field  close  by,  that  he  might  nibble 
some  fresh  clover  that  was  blowing  there. 
But,  once  in  the  open  country,  bunny's 
natural  instinct  came  upon  him,  and  he  set  off, 
racing  across  the  field,  so  fast  that  John 
and  Kitty  were  in  despair,  and  feared  they 
had  lost  him  entirely.  But  running  as 
fast  as  they  could  in  the  direction  he  had 
taken,  they  overtook  him  at  last,  digging 
with  all  his  might  in  the  soft  earth  under  a 
hedge.  He  had  already  burrowed  quite  a 
a  hole,  by  scraping  the  earth  up  with  his 
fore  paws  and  throwing  it  out  beyond  his 
hind  legs.  He  was  so  busily  at  work,  making 
himself  a  home  I  suppose,  that  he  did  not 
notice  John  and  Kitty,  who  pounced  delight- 
ed upon  their  little  runaway,  and  carried 
him  home.  And  he  never  was  allowed  to 
have  a  scamper  in  the  field  again,  so  much  had 
he  frightened  his  little  friends. 


THIKD     BOOK. 


ESQUIMAUX     AND    THEIR     HUTS. 

THE  Esquimaux  inhabit  the  extreme  north- 
ern part  of  North  America,  commonly  called  the 
Arctic  Regions.  It  is  very  cold  indeed  where 
they  live,  a  great  deal  colder  than  any  little 
boy  or  girl  who  reads  this  can  imagine.  They 


52  U  N  C  L  E 

live  in  liuts  made  of  ice  and  snow.  These 
huts  are  sometimes  round,  a  layer  of  stones 
being  placed  on  a  bank  of  snow,  then  their 
paddles,  tent-poles,  pieces  of  whalebone,  are 
added,  and  when  they  can  get  them,  birch-twigs 
for  beds.  A  round  piece  of  ice  covers  the 
top.  They  make  a  kind  of  tunnel  by  which 
they  enter  and  leave  the  hut,  creeping  in  and 
out.  The  hut  not  having  any  opening  for 
fresh  air  becomes  very  hot,  and  the  water 
melting  from  the  snow  inside  makes  them 
very  wet.  They  crowd  a  great  many  persons 
into  very  small  space.  The  Esquimaux  live 
entirely  by  hunting  and  fishing,  as  it  is  too 
cold  for  any  thing  to  grow  there.  Their  clothes 
are  made  of  skins  of  beasts  and  birds, 
and  their  spears  and  arrows  of  bones  of 
fishes.  Their  canoes  are  very  light  and  small, 
mostly  made  of  whalebone.  They  are  a  very 
dirty,  ignorant  people,  but  in  many  instances 
have  shown  themselves  very  kind-hearted  to 


THIKD     B  O  O  K.  53 

the  different  persons  who  have  been  lost  on 
their  coasts. 


THE     CONTRARY     BOY. 

Do  you  know  what  a  contrary  boy  is  ?  I 
will  tell  you.  He  is  one  who  is  never  satisfied 
with  what  he  has,  but  always  wants  something 
different.  If  I  were  to  say  to  you,  "Come, 
James,  and  see  what  a  pretty  picture  I  have 
got  here  ;  "  and  you  should  say,  "  No,  I  don't 
want  a  picture,  you  said  you  would  bring  me  a 
pretty  book," — that  would  be  being  contrary. 
If  your  father  should  bring  you  home  a  little 
cart  to  draw  about  the  room,  and  you  should 
say,  "  I  don't  want  a  cart,  I  don't  like  carts,  I 
want  a  horse  and  whip,  like  William's,"  that 
would  be  very  contrary. 

Now  I  knew  a  little  boy  once,  who  was 
very  unhappy  a  great  deal  of  his  time  because 
he  would  not  be  pleased  with  the  playthings 


54  UNCLE 

he  had,  but  always  wanted  another  kind,  or 
something  else.  This  little  boy  had  a  very 
kind  father  and  mother,  who  loved  him  very 
much,  and  who  tried  to  make  him  happy. 
They  bought  him  good  clothes  to  wear ;  they 
gave  him  good  things  to  eat,  whenever  he  was 
hungry,  and  they  bought  him  a  great  many 
pretty  playthings.  But  though  they  were 
so  very  kind,  this  boy  was  sometimes  so 
naughty  as  to  cry  when  they  gave  him  a  new 
plaything,  because  he  had  wanted  a  cart,  or  a 
whip,  perhaps,  instead  of  a  pretty  wooden  box 
of  blocks.  If  they  had  bought  him  either  of 
these,  he  would  have  wanted  the  blocks  or 
something  else.  Nobody  liked  to  give  Charles 
any  playthings,  or  sugar-plums,  or  any  thing 
else,  because  they  did  not  make  him  happy ; 
and  they  did  not  make  him  happy  because  he 
would  not  be  pleased,  but  always  thought  of 
something  else  which  he  fancied  he  would 
rather  have. 


THIRD      BOOK.  55 

One  day  Charles's  mother  came  into  the 
room  where  he  was  playing,  and  said, "  Charles, 
your  little  brother  William  is  going  to  walk 
with  Susan  ;  would  you  like  to  go  too  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  but  I  shall  want  to  wear 
my  new  cap." 

"  But  I  told  you  the  other  day,"  said  his 
mother,  "  that  you  could  not  wear  it  for  a 
whole  week  again,  because  you  threw  it  upon 
the  floor  when  you  came  in  yesterday,  instead 
of  hanging  it  on  its  nail." 

"  Then  I  don't  want  to  go,"  said  Charles. 

"  Very  well,"  said  his  mother ;  and  calling 
to  Susan,  she  told  her  she  need  not  to  wait 
any  longer. 

"  But  I  shall  want  to  go,"  said  Charles, 
beginning  to  cry. 

"  You  must  not  go  now,"  said  his  mother, 
"  for  you  said  you  did  not  want  to  go,  just 
because  you  felt  contrary,  and  out  of  humor." 

His    mother    then    sat   down    to   work. 


56  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

Charles,  finding  it  was  useless  to  cry,  dried  his 
tears,  and  began  throwing  his  playthings  about 
the  room. 

"  Don't  do  so,"  said  his  mother ;  "  yo  u  will 
break  that  pretty  box,  and  your  white  cards, 
with  the  pretty  colored  letters,  will  get  soiled, 
and  not  fit  to  be  used." 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  do,"  said  Charles  ; 
"  it  is  not  a  pretty  box,  and  I  don't  like  the 
cards." 

His  mother  rose,  took  away  all  his  play- 
things, and  left  him  sitting  upon  the  floor,  with 
nothing  to  do.  As  she  took  no  notice  of  his 
cross  looks,  he  presently  went  to  the  window, 
and  stood  on  a  little  stool,  looking  to  see  the 
horses  and  carriages  passing,  and  soon  he 
began  to  feel  good-humored  again. 

"  Oh  !  mother,"  said  he,  "  there  are  two 
beautiful  little  dogs  in  the  street,  and  a  little 
boy  running  after  them.  Oh  !  how  I  should 
like  a  little  dog.  Mother,  will  you  buy  me 


THIRD      BOOK.  5f 

one  ? "  and  he  ran  to  his  mother,  and  looked 
up  in  her  face. 

"  What  would  you  do  with  a  dog,  "said  his 
mother  "  if  you  had  one  ? " 

"  Oh !  I  should  play  with  him ;  I  would  put 
some  things  in  my  cart,  and  tie  the  dog  to  it, 
and  let  him  draw  it  to  market,  just  like  the 
dog  in  William's  picture.  " 

"  But  I  am  afraid,"  said  his  mother, "  that  if 
your  father  should  buy  you  a  dog,  you  would 
sometimes  get  out  of  humor  with  him,  and 
then  you  would  say  it  was  an  ugly  dog,  and 
you  did  not  want  it  any  more." 

"  No  I  would  not,"  said  Charles ;  "  I  should 
always  love  my  little  dog." 

"  So  you  said,  if  I  would  buy  you  a  new  cap, 
you  would  be  a  good  boy,  and  never  give  me 
any  trouble  about  it ;  but  yesterday  you  forgot 
your  promise,  and  did  not  put  it  in  its  place : 
and  to-day  you  have  made  me  very  unhappy 
by  your  bad  temper.  And  you  have  displeas- 


58  UNCLE 

ed  God  too,  for  he  was  looking  directly  into 
your  heart  when  you  said  you  did  not  want 
to  go  with  Susan,  and  saw  that  you  were 
saying  what  was  not  true." 

"  But  I  will  remember  next  time,  if  you 
will  only  get  me  a  little  dog." 

Just  then  William  came  into  the  room  with 
a  large  piece  of  cake  in  his  hand,  which  a  lady 
had  given  him.  He  went  up  to  his  brother, 
and  breaking  it  into  two  pieces,  offered  him 
one  of  them. 

"  No,  I  want  the  other  piece,"  said  Charles. 

"  But  I  can't  give  it  to  you,"  said  William ; 
"  I  want  it  myself." 

"  Then  I  won't  have  any,"  said  Charles,  im- 
patiently. 

"  Keep  all  the  cake  yourself,  William,"  said 
his  mother ;  "  Charles  must  not  have  any,  be- 
cause he  is  not  a  good  boy." 

"  But  I  do  want  some,"  said  Charles,  begin- 
ning to  cry  very  loud.  Then  his  mother  went 


THIRD     BOOK.  59 

to  the  door,  and  calling  Susan,  told  her  to 
take  Charles  into  the  other  room,  and  keep 
him  there  until  he  was  perfectly  good-humored. 
So  you  see  Charles  lost  a  pleasant  walk  and  a 
nice  piece  of  cake,  and  after  all  had  to  be  sent 
away  from  his  kind  mother,  just  because  he 
would  be  a  contrary  boy.  Do  you  think  he 
was  happy  ? 

In  the  afternoon,  Charles  and  his  brothers 
and  sisters  went  to  play  in  the  meadows.  It 
was  a  beautiful  day,  for  the  sun  shone  very 
splendidly,  and  the  birds  were  singing  merrily. 
After  having  amused  themselves  for  some 
time,  so  that  they  began  to  feel  tired,  they 
sat  down  to  rest  under  the  shade  of  an  over- 
hanging tree. 

"  Here  is  a  beautiful  flower,  Susan,"  said 
Charles ;  "  it  is  prettier  by  far,  than  any  which 
you  have  gathered;  would  you  not  like  to 
have  it?  if  you  would,  I  will  give  it  you. 


60 

Here,  Susan,  take  it — I  know  it  will  please 
you." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  brother,"  replied  his 
sister ;  "  it  really  is  very  handsome,  and  I  am 
sure  it  will  be  a  great  addition  to  my  nose- 

gay." 

She  then  stretched  out  her  arm  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  it — but  just  as  she  had  hold 
of  it,  the  contrary  boy  drew  back  his  hand 
with  great  force,  saying,  "No,  I  want  it 
myself ; "  by  which  means  the  flower  was 
destroyed. 

The  next  day,  as  these  two  little  boys  were 
playing  in  the  yard,  they  looked  up  and  saw  a 
carriage,  drawn  by  two  large  white  horses,  stop 
at  the  door.  It  was  their  aunt's.  She  had 
brought  her  little  son  and  daughter,  named 
James  and  Mary,  to  spend  the  afternoon  with 
their  cousins,  and  all  looked  as  happy  as  if 
they  were  expecting  to  have  a  rare  good  time ; 
and  so  they  were. 


THIRD     BOOK.  61 

Their  aunt  went  into  the  house,  and  the 
children  played  together  out  in  the  yard. 
When  they  were  tired  of  that,  they  went  into 
the  mowing  field,  where  the  hay  was  spread 
to  dry,  and  began  to  throw  it  upon  each  other. 
This  they  enjoyed  very  much,  till  Charles 
began  to  cry,  and  said  they  should  not  throw 
the  hay  upon  him.  He  wanted  to  pelt  the 
others,  but  was  not  willing  to  have  them  pelt 
him.  So  this  contrary  boy  spoiled  the  whole 
play,  and  he  cried  so  loud  that  his  mother 
had  to  call  him  into  the  house.  When  he 
was  gone,  James  laid  down  in  the  hay,  and 
told  his  sister  and  cousin  to  cover  him  up  in 
it.  When  he  was  hidden  entirely,  so  that 
they  could  not  see  him,  he  jumped  up  sudden- 
ly, and  ran  to  catch  them,  with  an  armful  of 
hay,  to  pay  them  for  treating  him  so.  They 
laughed  very  loud,  and  were  very  happy,  now 
they  had  no  one  to  disturb  them  with  crying. 
They  were  soon  called  in  to  tea. 


62  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

Charles  had  not  been  very  well  in  the 
morning,  and  his  mother  was  afraid  to  give 
him  as  many  strawberries  in  his  milk  as  the 
rest.  So  Charles  began  to  cry,  and  said  he 
would  not  have  any.  His  mother  then  sent 
him  out  of  the  room,  and  did  not  allow  him 
to  return  until  his  cousins  had  gone. 

You  see  how  many  pleasant  things  he  lost 
by  being  so  contrary.  His  mother  said  she 
could  not  buy  him  a  dog  until  he  had  learn- 
ed to  be  a  good  boy.  His  cousins  said  they 
did  not  want  to  go  see  and  him  again,  for  he 
spoiled  their  play ;  and  when  his  mother  went 
to  see  his  aunt,  she  took  William,  but  left 
Charles  at  home.  She  said  she  could  not 
take  him  with  her  until  he  was  willing  to  do 
as  others  wished  to  have  him,  and  not  always 
cry  to  have  his  own  way.  By-and-by  Charles 
learned  that  it  was  better  to  be  pleasant  at  all 
times,  and  not  get  out  of  humor  when  things 
did  not  exactly  suit  him ;  and  then  everybody 


THIED    BOOK. 


63 


loved  him,  for  lie  was  a  good  little  boy  in 
every  other  respect. 


THE     CAMEL. 


THE    CAMEL   AT   HOME. 


"  O,  MAMMA,  I  saw  a  camel  go  by.  A  real, 
large,  live  camel.  A  man  led  it  by  a  rope." 

"  Poor  thing !  I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  my 
dear." 


64  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

"Why,  mamma?" 

"  Because,  my  dear,  the  camel  is  the  native 
of  a  warmer  land  than  ours,  and  it  was  not 
meant  by  God  to  be  led  about  on  rough  and 
stony  roads.  Its  feet  are  soft  and  spongy,  and 
only  fitted  for  the  yielding  sands  of  its  own 
country." 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  it  too,  mamma ;  very 
sorry.  I  did  not  know  it  was  cruel.  Where 
does  the  camel  come  from,  mamma  ? " 

"  Arabia  is  its  native  home,  my  dear.  There 
it  is  used  by  the  Arabs  as  a  beast  of  burden, 
and  will  carry  heavy  loads  for  a  great  distance. 
It  is  taught  to  kneel  down  at  the  word  of 
command,  in  order  that  it  may  be  more  easily 
laden.  And  it  is  much  more  useful  than  a 
horse  could  be  in  that  burning  land,  where 
water  is  very  scarce ;  because  it  has  cells  or 
bags  within  its  stomach,  which  will  retain  the 
water  it  drinks  for  many  days,  so  that  it  does 
not  grow  thirsty  again  as  long  as  this  supply 


THIRD    BOOK.  65 

lasts.  And  it  can  smell  so  keenly,  that  if 
there  is  a  fountain  two  miles  off  it  will  find  it 
out,  thus  often  saving  the  lives  of  whole  cara- 
vans. A  caravan  is  a  company  of  people, 
and  their  horses  and  camels,  travelling  over 
the  sands.  It  is  usual  to  go  in  large  parties, 
for  the  dangers  of  the  wide  deserts  are  very 
great.  The  camel's  nostrils  are  so  formed, 
that  it  can  close  them  if  it  likes.  And  this  is 
because  sometimes  a  whirlwind  raises  and 
drives  the  sand,  so  as  almost  to  suffocate  those 
who  meet  it.  So  you  see,  dear,  how  good 
God  has  been  in  fitting  the  camel  for  the  land 
it  inhabits,  and  how  wrong  it  must  be  to 
bring  it  away,  and  drag  it  about  the  streets 
of  a  country  where  every  thing  is  so  different 
that  it  must  often  suffer  sadly." 


66  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

LITTLE  JESSIE  AND  HER  NEW  SHILLING. 

LITTLE  Jessie  was  eight  years  old.  She 
could  read  and  spell  very  nicely,  and  she 
loved  a  pretty  book  dearly.  And  she  could 
work  far  more  neatly  than  many  an  older  child, 
because  she  took  pains,  and  was  more  careful 
to  work  well  than  quickly.  One  day  she  had 
finished  a  new  pillow-case.  She  had  made  it 
all  herself.  She  had  even  sewn  on  the  strings 
and  marked  it.  And  her  mamma  was  pleased. 
So  much  pleased  with  her  dear  little  girl  that 
she  said, "  You  have  taken  so  much  pains  to  do 
this  work  well,  dear  Jessie,  that  I  should  like 
to  give  you  something  as  a  reward.  Here  is 
a  bright  new  shilling  for  you.  And  after  din- 
ner you  shall  go  down  to  the  shop  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  buy  what  you  like  with  it."  Jessie 
kissed  her  dear  mamma,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  joy.  But  it  was  more  because  she  had 
pleased  her  mother  than  for  the  sake  of  the 


THIRD     BOOK. 


shilling,  and  she  said,  "  Dear  mamma,  do  not 
give  me  the  money.  I  do  not  want  to  be  paid 
for  my  work.  You  do  not  know  how  happy 
I  am  to  do  any  thing  for  you."  "  I  know  that, 
my  love,"  said  her  mamma,  "  and  I  do  not  give 
you  this  as  payment  for  your  work,  for  I  know 
that  was  an  act  of  love  ;  but  I  like  to  show 
you  how  much  I  am  pleased  with  you.  So 
take  the  shilling,  my  dear  child,  and  buy  some- 
thing to  keep  for  my  sake."  Then  Jessie  took 
the  pretty  new  shilling,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  she  was  so  happy.  When  she 
read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  that  morning,  as 
she  always  did  every  day  after  her  lessons 
were  over,  she  came  to  that  text,  "  Do  unto 
others  as  you  would  they  should  do  unto 
you."  And  her  mamma  talked  to  her  about 
it  for  a  little  while.  Then  Jessie  went  to  play 
in  the  garden,  and  after  dinner  she  put  on  her 
bonnet  and  jacket  to  go  down  to  the  village 
shop.  She  was  always  trusted  to  go  there  by 


68  UNCLE    jo  UN'S 

herself,  for  it  was  not  far,  and  on  the  same 
side  of  the  way  as  her  mamma's  house,  so  that 
she  had  not  to  cross  the  road.  She  had  quite 
made  up  her  mind  what  she  would  buy  with 
her  shilling.  For  in  the  window  of  the  vil- 
lage shop  had  long  stood  open  a  very  charm- 
ing story  book  full  of  pictures  and  pretty  tales. 
And  "  one  shilling"  was  written  just  above  it. 
So  on  this  book  Jessie  set  her  heart,  and  bound- 
ing merrily  down  the  stairs,  and  only  stopping 
to  give  one  kiss  to  her  dear  mamma,  she  was 
soon  in  the  village  street,  on  her  way  to  spend 
the  money.  She  had  not  gone  far,  when  she  met 
little  Sally  James,  crying  very  bitterly.  Sal- 
ly was  about  Jessie's  age,  and  the  child  of  very 
poor  and  very  sickly  parents,  who  had  often 
not  food  enough  to  give  their  hungry  little 
girl.  Her  face  looked  sad  indeed  by  Jessie's 
happy  one,  nor  was  there  any  need  to  ask  the 
reason  of  her  tears.  A  brown  loaf  was  in  her 
little  apron,  which  she  had  just  been  to  fetch 


THIKDBOOK.  69 

from  the  shop  to  which  Jessie  was  going. 
And  a  jug  of  milk  had  been  in  her  hand. 
But,  alas !  poor  little  girl,  her  shoes  were  old, 
and  wanted  mending  sadly.  One  of  them  had 
caught  in  a  rough  flint  stone,  and  the  jerk  had 
thrown  her  down.  The  milk  was  spilt  and 
the  jug  broken  to  pieces.  The  milk  was  all 
they  had  for  supper  with  the  brown  loaf,  as 
she  sobbingly  told  Jessie;  and  the  jug,  it  was 
the  only  one  in  the  house.  Jessie  had  often 
been  with  her  mamma  to  visit  the  poor  in 
their  own  homes.  And  she  had  learned  to 
feel  for  their  sorrows  and  sufferings.  So  she 
saw  at  once  how  real  a  trial  little  Sally's  was, 
and  that  the  loss  of  the  milk  and  the  jug  was 
a  very  different  thing  to  Sally  to  what  it  would 
have  been  in  her  own  case.  For  if  she  had 
met  with  an  accident  of  the  same  sort,  more 
milk  could  have  been  bought,  and  there  were 
plenty  of  jugs  to  make  up  the  loss  of  the  bro- 
ken one.  But  Jessie's  kind  little  heart  saw 


TO  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

at  once  the  poor  family  going  to  bed  without 
any  thing  to  soften  the  coarse  bread  which 
was  their  only  food,  and  the  sad  face  of  the 
anxious  mother  when  she  found  their  only  jug 
was  broken.  And  the  blessed  text  in  her 
morning's  reading  came  into  Jessie's  mind,  "  Do 
unto  others  as  you  would  they  should  do  un- 
to you."  And  with  a  bright  and  happy  smile 
she  drew  the  shining  shilling  from  her  little 
purse,  and  said,  "  Do  not  cry,  Sally ;  see,  you 
shall  have  this  pretty  new  shilling,  and  we  will 
go  back  to  the  shop  and  buy  a  new  jug,  and 
you  shall  get  some  more  milk."  "  Oh,  miss !  " 
was  all  that  little  Sally  could  reply.  The  joy 
seemed  too  much  after  her  great  sorrow.  But 
the  tears  were  soon  dried  up,  and  the  two  lit 
tie  girls  went  together  to  the  shop,  and  for 
sixpence  they  bought  a  strong  useful  jug. 
Twopence  more  filled  it  with  milk,  and  there 
was  still  fourpence  left,  which  Jessie  thought 
would  be  quite  enough  to  pay  for  mending  lit- 


THIED     BOOK.  71 

tle  Sally's  ragged  shoes.  I  do  not  know 
which  little  girl  was  the  happiest  as  they  left 
the  shop,  but  I  think  Jessie,  for  we  know  it  is 
more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.  And  if 
for  a  moment,  as  she  passed  the  window  on 
her  way  home,  the  sight  of  the  pretty  book 
cast  a  shadow  on  her  brow,  her  heart  was 
filled  with  a  deep  peace  as  she  rested  her  face 
on  her  mamma's  shoulder,  threw  her  arms 
round  her  neck,  and  told  her  how  she  had 
spent  her  new  shilling. 


UNCLE   JOHNS 


THE     OLD     WOMAN     BY     THE     WOOD. 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  COTTAGE. 

THERE  was  once  an  old  woman  who  lived 
in  a  cottage  close  by  a  wood.  The  shadow 
of  some  of  the  nearest  trees  fell  upon  the 
thatch  on  sunny  days,  so  that  it  was  almost 
as  if  she  lived  in  the  wood  itself.  Many  peo- 
ple thought  she  must  have  been  veiy  lonely, 


THIED     BOOK. 


for  there  was  no  house  near  her  by  a  mile  or 
two.  But  she  was  far  happier  than  if  she  had 
been  dwelling  in  a  crowded  street,  where 
friends  and  neighbors  would  have  been  ever  at 
her  door  ;  for  she  loved  the  works  of  God.  And 
here,  in  the  shelter  of  the  wood,  she  could  en- 
joy them  with  an  undisturbed  heart.  The 
birds  seemed  to  her  as  cheerful  friends,  and 
the  flowers  were  far  more  beautiful  than  any 
of  the  treasures  man  has  made.  In  the  night, 
the  sweet  voice  of  the  nightingale  kept  her 
from  feeling  solitary.  And  when  winter 
came,  and  the  trees  were  bare  and  the  birds 
silent,  she  scattered  food  for  them  around  her 
door,  and  often  tempted  them  within  the 
threshold.  Even  the  shy  little  squirrel,  that 
jumped  out  of  sight  if  any  other  foot  came  by 
its  nest,  would  come  shyly  from  the  tree  to 
watch  the  old  woman  scattering  corn  for  its 
food. 


74  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

HOW    TO    BE    GOOD. 

"  PAPA,"  said  Harry,  "  I  mean  to  be  a  very 
good  boy  all  day,  to-day.  I  don't  mean  to  do 
any  thing  naughty  at  all." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  my  boy,"  said 
papa,  as  he  went  out  at  the  hall  door,  and  left 
Harry  standing  on  the  stone  steps. 

It  was  a  holiday,  and  Hariy  felt  so  full  of 
spirits,  he  thought  he  could  do  any  thing. 
First  he  raced  round  the  garden  till  he  was 
quite  out  of  breath,  and  then  he  went  to  feed 
his  rabbits,  and  look  at  Rover  in  his  kennel. 

While  he  was  out  in  the  yard,  his  little 
sister  came  running  to  him.  "  O,  Harry,  mam- 
ma says  you  have  left  all  your  bricks  upon 
the  carpet  in  the  breakfast-room,  and  you 
must  come  and  clear  them  away  at  once." 

"  I  can't,  Jenny :  I  want  to  feed  the  rab- 
bits ;  they  have  nothing  to  eat.  Tell  mamma 
I  will  come  presently." 


THIED     BOOK. 

"  But  mamma  said  you  were  to  come  this 
very  moment,  because  Ann  wants  to  clean  the 
room." 

"  I  must  feed  the  rabbits  now  I  am  here," 
said  Harry.  "  It  won't  take  me  long.  I  will 
come  the  very  moment  I  have  done." 

So  Jenny  went  back  to  the  house,  and  Har- 
ry began  to  feed  his  rabbits.  And  he  found 
they  had  been  gnawing  the  hutch-doors,  so 
that  one  of  the  leathern  hinges  had  given  way. 
And  he  was  afraid  they  would  get  out  if  he 
did  not  mend  it.  So  he  fetched  his  tool-box 
and  set  to  work.  But  it  was  a  long  job,  and 
more  than  an  hour  passed  away  before  he  got 
to  the  breakfast-room.  There  all  was  in  dis- 
order. Chairs  piled  upon  one  another.  The 
window-curtains  all  looped  up  out  of  the  way, 
and  Ann  sweeping  in  such  clouds  of  dust  that 
Harry  would  gladly  have  made  his  escape  if 
he  had  not  felt  rather  anxious  about  the  fate 
of  his  bricks. 


76 

"  Where  are  my  bricks,  Ann  ?  They  were 
all  on  the  carpet." 

"I  do  not  know,  Master  Harry.  I  have 
not  seen  them." 

"  Not  seen  them,  Ann  !  You  must  have 
seen  them  ;  for  I  am  sure  they  were  there." 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell,"  said  Ann.  "  And  now 
you  really  must  get  out  of  my  way,  for  I  am 
too  busy  to  stand  looking  for  bricks." 

"  But  I  want  my  bricks,"  said  Harry.  "And 
you  must  tell  me  this  moment  where  you  have 
put  them.  I  will  have  them." 

Ann's  only  reply  was  to  take  hold  of  Har- 
ry's hand  and  lead  him  out  of  the  room ;  when 
she  shut  the  door,  and  again  went  on  with  her 
work.  Harry  was  very  angry,  and  began  mak- 
ing such  a  noise  at  the  closed  door  that  his 
mamma  came  down  stairs  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

"  It  is  that  tiresome  Ann,  mamma.  You 
know  she  is  always  so  cross,  and  now  she  will 


THIRD      BOOK. 


not  tell  me  where  she  has  put  my  bricks,  and 
has  turned  me  out  of  the  room.  But  I  will  go 
in  again." 

"Harry,  Harry,"  said  his  mamma,  "how 
can  you  be  so  naughty.  Did  you  not  come 
and  clear  away  your  bricks,  as  I  told  you,  an 
hour  ago  ?  " 

"  I  came  as  soon  as  I  had  fed  the  rabbits, 
mamma." 

"  But  I  told  you  to  come  at  once.  You  were 
not  obedient,  Harry  ;  and  now  you  must  go  to 
your  own  room  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  You 
know  I  never  allow  you  to  disobey  me." 

So  Harry  went  up  stairs,  crying  and  scold- 
ing. But  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
he  came  out,  looking  brighter,  and  running  to 
his  mamma,  he  asked  her  to  forgive  him. 

Little  Jenny,  who  was  in  the  room,  said, 
"  Harry,  do  come  and  help  me  to  make  this 
card-house.  I  cannot  make  the  cards  stand  up 
at  all." 


8  UNCLE   jo  UN'S 

"  No,  Jenny,  I  cannot,"  said  Harry.  "  I  have 
been  shut  up,  now  I  don't  know  how  long ; 
and  all  the  morning  will  be  gone  before  I 
have  had  any  play.  Besides,  I  must  find  my 
bricks." 

"  They  are  all  safe,  Harry.  I  put  them  away 
for  you,"  said  his  little  sister.  "  I  put  them 
all  in  the  box,  for  fear  they  should  get  lost." 

Harry  looked  a  little  ashamed,  and  thanked 
his  sister ;  but  still  he  did  not  offer  to  help 
her  with  the  cards,  but  went  down  again  to 
the  garden.  There  he  lashed  the  trees  and 
flowers  with  his  new  whip,  till  he  had  broken 
off  the  head  of  a  fine  lily  that  his  papa  val- 
ued very  much.  And,  after  that,  he  went 
down  to  the  pond,  and  threw  stones  in  the 
water  till  his  clothes  were  splashed  all  over 
with  mud.  He  was  reproved  again  when  he 
came  in  to  dinner ;  and  all  the  afternoon  he 
was  in  mischief  of  some  sort,  so  that  when  his 


THIRD     BOOK.  9 

papa  came  liome  at  night  there  was  a  sad  ac- 
count to  lay  before  him. 

He  sent  for  Harry  to  his  own  room.  "Well, 
Harry,  how  did  you  get  on  to-day  ?  I  thought 
you  were  to  be  a  very  good  boy.  And  I  hear 
of  rudeness  to  the  servants,  disobedience  to 
your  mamma,  and  so  much  mischief  of  one 
kind  or  another,  that  I  really  do  not  know 
what  to  think  of  you." 

Harry  burst  into  tears.  "  Yes,  papa,  I  have 
been  very  unhappy  all  day.  Every  thing  has 
gone  wrong  with  me.  And  I  meant  to  be  so 
good." 

"  Yes,  my  poor  boy,  I  know  you  did.  Tell 
me,  did  you  say  your  prayers  this  morning  ? " 

"  No,  papa,  I  am  afraid  I  forgot  them.  I 
was  rather  late,  and  did  not  like  to  stay  up 
stairs  any  longer  to  say  them." 

"  Ah,  Harry,  that  is  the  secret  of  the  un- 
happy day  and  all  the  mischief.  You  have 
been  trying  in  your  own  strength,  and  have  not 


80  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

asked  help  of  God,  who  alone  can  give  it.  Do 
not  you  know  that  of  yourself  you  can  do 
no  good  thing;  but  that  with  God's  grace, 
which  is  the  reward  of  prayer,  you  can  do  all  ? " 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  Then  go,  my  dear  child,  and  pray  to  God 
to  forgive  you.  Tell  Him  how  you  have  for- 
gotten Him  through  this  day,  but  that  you 
are  sorry  from  your  very  heart,  and  ask  Him 
to  strengthen  you  to  do  better  to-morrow." 

Then  Harry  knelt  down  for  his  papa's 
blessing;  and  going  up  quietly  to  his  own 
little  room,  he  tried  to  pour  forth  his  whole 
heart  to  his  Father  in  Heaven. 


THI  ED    BOOK. 


81 


STROLL     ON     THE     SEA     SHORE. 


"Now,  dear  mamma,"  said  Harry,  as  his 
mother  came  from  the  door  of  the  bathing 
machine,  "will  you  dress  very  quickly  and 
take  ^the  long  walk  on  the  shore  that  you 
promised  me." 

6 


82  UNCLE  JOHN'S 

"  Yes,  Harry — you  are  already  dressed,  I 
see." 

It  was  a  very  impatient  Harry,  who 
walked  up  and  down  on  the  beach,  waiting 
for  his  mother  to  come  to  him ;  but  at  last 
when  he  was  almost  tempted  to  think  she 
never  would  come,  she  called  to  him,  and 
taking  his  hand,  led  him,  away  from  the 
merry  groups  of  bathers,  to  a  quieter  part  of 
the  beach. 

As  soon  as  he  was  free  to  run  about,  Har- 
ry began  to  search  for  sea  treasures  to  add  to 
his  pretty  marine  store,  which  he  had  col- 
lected the  previous  summer.  His  mother 
tried  to  read,  seating  herself  in  a  pretty  grot- 
to, a  few  steps  from  Harry ;  but  his  frequent 
calls  for  her  soon  made  her  put  her  book 
aside  to  join  her  little  boy  and  share  his 
pleasure. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  that  she  was  ready  for 
a  talk  he  sprang  to  meet  her,  crying :  "  O,  I 


THIRD     BOOK.  83 

HAVE  found  such  a  pretty  thing.  Do  look  at 
it.  What  can  it  be  2 " 

"  It  is  a  star-fish.  See,  it  is  just  like  a  star. 
Put  it  into  the  water  again.  It  has  been  left 
on  the  sands  by  the  ebbing  tide,  and  perhaps 
it  will  die  if  we  leave  it  here  ;  or  some  cruel 
boy  may  find  it  and  hurt  it.  Take  it  gently 
up,  with  some  sand  under  it,  on  your  little 
wooden  spade.  There,  now  you  have  got  it 
very  nicely.  And  you  can  put  it  in  here, 
where  the  cliffs  have  formed  a  little  pond. 
Now  it  moves.  It  sinks  down  into  the  sands. 
Now  it  is  gone  quite  under  them." 

"  O,  mamma,  I  should  have  liked  to  keep 
it  so  much.  I  never  saw  such  a  pretty  thing 
before." 

"  I  arn  sure  you  would  not  have  liked  to 
make  it  unhappy,  my  darling.  And  it  would 
soon  have  died  a  painful  death  if  you  had 
kept  it. 

"Why,  mamma?" 


84  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

"Because,  dear,  it  is  a  sea-animal,  and  is 
made  to  live  in  salt  water.  It  could  no  more 
live  on  land  than  you  could  in  the  sea." 

"  No ;  I  should  not  like  to  hurt  it,  mamma." 

"  There  is  a  sea-nettle.  Is  not  that  a  curious 
thing?" 

"  Yes,  mamma.  What  is  that  ?  It  looks 
like  jelly." 

"  That  is  an  animal  too,  though  one  of  those 
wonderful  creatures  that  are  almost  as  much 
like  a  plant  as  a  living  thing.  Do  not  touch 
it,  for  they  are  said  to  make  the  hands  of  those 
that  touch  them  tingle.  Have  you  ever  seen 
a  sea-anemone  amongst  the  rocks,  when  out 
walking  ? " 

"  No,  mamma ;  what  is  it  like  ?  " 

"  Come  with  me  along  this  rocky  ledge,  and 
I  dare  say  we  shall  find  some.  There,  look 
down  in  the  water.  There  are  numbers  of 
them.  Purple,  pink,  and  green.  Are  they 
not  beautiful  ? " 


THIKD     BOOK.  85 

"They  are  indeed,  mamma ;  just  like  flowers. 
And  I  can  see  them  open  and  shut  themselves 
up  while  I  watch  them.  Do  they  sting  \ " 

"I  think  not;  but  you  had  better  not 
touch  them." 

"  Shall  we  look  for  shells  ?  O,  mamma, 
look  at  the  sky !  What  a  lovely  color. 
And  just  where  the  sun  is  going  down  the 
clouds  are  so  bright,  they  make  my  eyes  quite 
ache  to  look  at  them." 

"  The  sky  often  looks  so  at  sunset  by  the 
sea.  Look  at  that  white  sail  in  the  distance. 
But  the  tide  is  coming  in,  we  must  not  go 
further  amongst  the  rocks  for  fear  we  should 
not  be  able  to  get  back  again.  Let  us  keep 
near  the  bathing-machines." 


86  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

HOW   TO   MAKE   A   KITE. 


A   CHINESE   KITE. 


THERE  is  scarcely  any  plaything  that  a 
boy  can  have  that  is  so  useful  to  him  as  a 
kite.  I  will  tell  you  why.  He  must  be  in- 


THIEDBOOK.  87 

genious  to  contrive  it;  industrious  to  make 
it ;  active  to  fly  it ;  patient  to  hold  it ;  and 
obliging  to  lend  it.  So  you  see  that  to  be  a 
good  boy  with  a  good  kite  requires  several 
virtues — ingenuity,  industry,  activity,  pa- 
tience, and  an  obliging  disposition. 

Kites  afford  excellent  amusement  both  in 
making  and  flying  them.  Those  that  are 
bought  at  shops  are  poor  things,  and  it  is 
much  better  for  boys  to  make  their  own.  To 
do  this,  procure  first  a  lath  four  feet  long,  an 
inch  wide,  and  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick. 
The  bender  (or  shoulders  of  the  Chinese  kite) 
must  be  a  cane  or  hoop  planed  thin  at  the 
edges,  and  should  be  as  long  as  the  lath.  Tie 
a  piece  of  string  to  each  end  of  the  bender, 
leaving  it  long  enough  to  stretch  to  the  end 
of  the  lath,  when  the  other  end  is  pressed  to 
the  centre  of  the  bender,  notching  the  lath  to 
keep  the  string  in  place.  Now  stretch  another 
string  from  one  end  of  the  bender  across  to 


88  UNCLE  JOHN'S 

the  other,  and  your  frame  is  made.  The  best 
thing  to  cover  it  with  is  thin  glazed  calico,  as 
it  may  be  put  on  all  in  one  piece.  If  paper  is 
used,  the  sheets  must  first  be  pasted  together 
with  the  edges  lapping  over  each  other  about 
half  an  inch.  Lay  the  frame  on  the  calico  or 
paper,  cut  it  out  to  the  shape,  leaving  an  inch 
to  be  turned  over  and  pasted  to  the  frame. 
Some  small  pieces  must  then  be  pasted  over 
the  lath  and  the  strings  at  the  back  to  keep 
it  secure  in  the  middle.  Two  holes  must  be 
made  in  the  lath  at  each  end,  and  a  piece  of 
strong  string  stretched  across.  In  the  centre 
of  this  string  is  tied  the  string  used  to  fly  the 
kite.  Care  must  be  taken  to  tie  it  in  the  right 
place ;  if  it  be  too  low,  the  kite  will  turn  round 
and  round  in  the  air — if  too  high,  it  will  plunge 
about  and  pitch.  A  little  experience  will 
soon  teach  the  proper  place  to  fasten  it.  The 
tail  should  be  at  least  ten  times  as  long  as  the 
kite.  It  is  much  better  not  to  have  slips  of 


THIEDBOOK.  89 

paper  tied  into  it,  but  only  a  bob  at  the  end ; 
that  is,  a  large  tassel  made  of  paper  cut  into 
fringes,  and  sufficiently  heavy  to  keep  the  kite 
in  its  true  position  in  the  air.  Tails  made 
with  slips  are  nearly  always  troublesome  from 
getting  entangled;  and  as  the  wind  shakes 
them  more  than  it  does  a  plain  string,  the 
kite  is  not  so  easily  balanced. 

When  the  kite  is  flying  you  may  send  up 
a  messenger,  which  is  a  round  piece  of  paper, 
or  card-board  with  a  hole  in  the  middle  ;  this 
is  put  on  the  string,  and  the  wind  soon  carries 
it  up  to  the  kite. 

A  hollow  tube  of  paste-board,  with  four 
little  sails  attached,  forms  another  kind  of 
messenger.  The  sails  are  to  be  made  of 
colored  paper,  similar  to  the  little  wind-mills 
often  sold  in  the  streets.  When  the  tube  is 
placed  on  the  string,  the  wind  acting  on  the 
sails,  causes  the  messenger  to  rotate  or  spin 
round ;  and  this,  as  it  ascends,  forms  a  very 
pretty  object. 


90        UNCLE  JOHN'S 

THE  USE  OF  A  NEEDLE. 

FANNY  JAMES  did  not  love  needle-work. 
She  thought  it  tiresome,  and  it  made  her  fin- 
ger sore.  She  liked  playing  on  the  piano  or 
dancing  better.  And  certainly  this  is  a  more 
pleasant  way  of  spending  one's  time  than  sew- 
ing. But  still  every  girl  ought  to  know  how 
to  work ;  and  I  do  not  see  why  boys  should 
not  learn  too,  at  least  so  far  as  to  be  able  to 
hem  a  handkerchief  or  mend  a  stocking,  for 
they  are  very  often  sadly  in  want  of  such 
knowledge  after  they  are  grown  up.  How- 
ever, everybody  does  not  think  as  I  do  on  this 
subject,  and  it  is  not  to  our  present  purpose 
to  say  any  more  about  it.  All  are  agreed  that 
girls  should  learn.  But  Fanny  always  said, 
"  Mamma,  there  is  no  occasion.  Bridget  the 
nurse  does  all  my  mending  for  me,  and  you 
do  not  know  how  I  dislike  work." 

Her  mamma  was  in  poor  health,  and  did 


THIKDBOOK.  91 

not  see  after  any  thing  very  much,  herself;  so 
Fanny  was  left  to  do  as  she  liked,  and  she 
grew  up  without  so  much  as  knowing  how  to 
make  a  button-hole.  Now,  when  she  was 
about  eighteen,  her  papa  and  mamma  both 
died  rather  suddenly,  and  in  settling  all  their 
affairs  it  was  found  that  there  was  nothing  left 
for  Fanny  to  live  upon :  so  she  was  obliged  to 
do  what  she  could  to  earn  her  own  bread : 
and  a  kind  lady,  who  had  known  her  father 
and  mother,  offered  to  take  her  as  a  compan- 
ion, to  help  her  in  different  ways  in  the  house, 
as  she  was  rather  lame.  Fanny  felt  very  grate- 
ful for  this ;  and,  when  her  first  bitter  grief 
for  the  loss  of  her  best  and  dearest  friends  had 
a  little  passed  away,  she  began  to  feel  very 
happy  with  Mrs.  Stone.  But  so  soon  as  she 
was  well  enough  to  be  employed,  she  found 
to  her  great  dismay  that  needle- work  was  al- 
most the  chief  thing  that  would  be  required 
of  her  after  the  morning  hours.  For  Mrs. 


92  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

Stone  worked  a  great  deal  for  the  poor  and 
made  clothes  for  them,  and  she  wanted  Fan- 
ny to  sit  and  help  her  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  day.  Then  it  was  that  poor  Fanny  found 
the  folly  of  her  former  conduct. 

She  was  now  in  such  circumstances  that  she 
did  not  object  to  work,  as  she  did  when  a 
child ;  but  would  gladly  have  done  whatever 
was  required  of  her.  But  she  did  not  know 
how,  and  being  ashamed  to  tell  Mrs.  Stone 
of  her  childish  folly,  many  and  sad  were  the 
mistakes  she  made.  One  day  a  pair  of  sheets 
were  found  sewn  together  like  a  great  pillow- 
case; and  though,  as  Mrs.  Stone  said,  laugh- 
ing good  humoredly,  "  Such  a  plan  might  save 
the  trouble  of  tucking  up  the  bed ;  yet,  as  it 
was  not  the  usual  way  of  doing  such  things, 
Fanny  really  must  undo  her  work."  She  made 
such  sad  blunders,  that  at  last  Mrs.  Stone  was 
obliged  to  part  with  her ;  for  she  wanted  some 
one  who  could  help  her  in  her  deeds  of  chari- 


T  HIED    BOOK.  93 

ty,  and  not  hinder  them  by  wasting  time  and 
materials.  Truly  sorry  was  Fanny  to  go,  and 
much  trouble  she  had  in  finding  any  one  will- 
ing to  take  so  useless  a  person.  At  last  she 
got  a  situation  as  nurse  to  an  old  lady,  who 
was  very  ill  and  very  fretful,  and  who  want- 
ed waiting  upon  every  moment  of  the  day. 
This  was  very  hard  work  for  poor  Fanny,  but 
she  tried  to  take  it  as  a  wholesome  punish- 
ment for  her  folly:  yet  often  she  could  not 
help  saying  to  herself,  "  Oh,  if  I  had  but  taken 
pains  to  learn  to  work  whilst  I  was  at  school, 
I  might  still  have  been  with  that  dear  Mrs. 
Stone." 


94 


THE  MOUSE  WHO   WANTED  TO  SEE 
THE  WORLD. 


THE   OAK   THEE. 

THERE  was  once  a  little  brown  mouse  who 
lived  in  an  old  oak  tree,  close  to  the  root. 
The  tree  stood  upon  a  high  hill,  and  from  her 
nest  the  mouse  could  look  out  over  broad 


THIRD      BOOK.  95 

fields,  and  far  away  could  see  a  faint  line  like 
silver,  which  was  the  sea  shore.  In  the  sum- 
mer the  large  green  leaves  of  the  tree  made 
a  cool  pleasant  shade  for  the  mouse's  nest, 
and  in  the  winter  she  crept  far  down  to  the 
root,  curled  herself  up,  and  slept  safely,  shel- 
tered by  the  strong  tree  from  every  wind  or 
storm.  It  was  the  grandest  tree  for  a  home, 
and  her  nest  was  the  very  prettiest  and  the 
softest  that  could  be  thought  of.  But  the 
little  mouse  grew  tired  of  the  old  oak  tree, 
and  wanted  to  see  the  world.  So  one  day, 
when  the  pretty  blue-bells  were  ringing  mer- 
rily all  around  her  tree,  and  the  morning  sun 
shone  brightly  in  the  cloudless  sky,  away  she 
went  for  change  of  air  and  scene,  as  she  said 
to  herself.  Ah,  silly  little  mouse  !  There  is 
not  a  mossy  nest  under  every  tree  in  the  wide 
world,  and  the  summer  sun  does  not  always 
shine. 

On  she  went  and  very  much  tired  she  got, 


96  UNCLE 

and  after  all  she  felt  rather  disappointed ;  for 
there  was  nothing  but  trees,  and  blue-bells, 
and  clear  skies,  and  she  wanted  change.  And 
change  came  too  soon.  The  sun  began  to  set, 
and  the  skies  grew  dark  and  gloomy,  and  at 
last  the  lightning  and  thunder  and  rain  came 
on  all  around  her.  And  there  were  no  more 
blue-bells  or  green  trees,  for  she  was  out  upon 
a  bare  common.  O,  then,  how  earnestly  the 
little  mouse  lamented  her  folly,  and  how  bit- 
terly she  sighed  after  her  mossy  hole  in  the 
old  oak  tree. 

She  tried  to  run  back,  but  her  little  feet 
got  clogged  with  mud,  for  the  rain  poured 
heavily.  And  all  night  long  she  wandered 
about,  seeking  in  vain  for  shelter.  And  early 
in  the  morning  she  was  seen  by  a  shepherd- 
boy  who  had  come  out  betimes  to  work,  and 
he  carried  her  home  and  shut  her  up  in  a  dis- 
mal box  with  only  four  little  bars  to  peep 
through  at  the  light  of  day ;  and  dry  brown 


THIED      BOOK.  9Y 

bread  and  bad  apples  were  all  she  got  to  eat, 
instead  of  the  fresh  nuts  she  used  to  find  in 
the  wood. 

O,  how  she  sighed  for  her  little  distant 
home.  And  at  last,  when  she  had  learned  to 
think  that  after  all  she  had  been  very  un- 
grateful for  the  pleasures  she  had  left,  and 
had  made  up  her  mind,  bad  as  her  lot  was,  to 
try  and  be  content  with  it,  the  little  shepherd- 
boy's  sister  begged  him  so  hard  to  let  her  set 
the  little  mouse  free,  that  having  already 
grown  tired  of  it  he  gave  her  leave  to  do  as 
she  liked.  And  being  a  very  kind  little  girl, 
she  thought  the  pleasant  green  wood  hard  by 
must  be  a  charming  place  for  a  little  mouse. 
So  she  asked  her  mother's  leave,  and,  one 
lovely  morning,  she  set  out  with  the  dismal 
cage  in  her  hand;  and  away  she  went  far 
into  the  green  fields,  till  she  came  to  one  of 
the  sweetest  spots  where  the  blue-bells  made 
a  bright  carpet  on  the  ground,  and  there  she 
7 


98  UNCLE 

opened  the  cage-door  and  let  loose  the  trem- 
bling little  mouse. 

Afraid  and  bewildered,  it  ran  eagerly  to 
the  first  shelter  it  could  find  from  the  watch- 
ful eyes  of  its  kind  little  friend;  but  who 
shall  tell  its  joy  when  it  found  itself  once 
more  in  its  own  bed  of  moss.  Yes,  in  the 
very  same,  under  the  old  oak  tree.  Its  little 
heart  beat  with  a  joy  so  great  that  it  was  al- 
most like  pain ;  and  when  the  little  girl  was 
gone,  and  it  peeped  out  once  more  and  saw 
all  the  dear  well-known  scene  that  had  once 
been  so  tiresome,  it  felt  that  there  was  no 
such  lovely  place  in  all  the  world.  And,  with 
a  grateful  heart,  it  once  more  took  up  its 
abode  in  the  mossy  nest,  and  never  again 
went  out  of  sight  of  the  old  oak  tree,  lest  it 
should  lose  forever  a  home  the  value  of 
which  it  had  now  fully  learned. 


THIRD     BOOK.  99 

CONSCIENCE. 

A  LITTLE  boy  called  Jem  Roberts,  having 
been  set  to  weed  in  a  gentleman's  garden,  ob- 
serving some  very  beautiful  looking  fruit  on  a 
tree  which  grew  upon  a  wall,  was  strongly 
tempted  to  pluck  one. 

If  it  tastes  but  half  as  nice  as  it  looks, 
thought  he,  how  delightful  it  must  be !  He 
stood  for  an  instant  gazing  on  the  tree,  while 
his  mother's  words,  Touch  nothing  that  does 
not  belong  to  you,  came  vividly  to  mind.  He 
withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  tempting  object, 
and  with  great  diligence  pursued  his  occupa- 
tion. The  fruit  was  forgotten,  and  with  pleas- 
ure he  now  perceived  he  had  nearly  reached 
the  end  of  the  bed  which  he  had  been  ordered 
to  clear.  Collecting  in  his  hands  the  heap  of 
weeds  he  had  laid  beside  him,  he  returned  to 
deposit  them  in  the  wheelbarrow  which  stood 
near  the  peach  tree.  Again  the  glowing  fruit 


100  UNCLE 

met  Ms  eye,  more  beautiful  and  more  tempt- 
ing than  ever,  for  he  was  hot  and  thirsty. 
He  stood  still — his  heart  beat — his  mother's 
command  was  heard  no  more — his  resolution 
was  gone !  He  looked  around,  there  was  no 
one  but  himself  in  the  garden.  They  can 
never  miss  one  out  of  so  many,  said  he  to 
himself.  He  made  a  step,  only  one,  he  was 
now  within  reach  of  the  prize :  he  darted  forth 
his  hand  to  seize  it,  when  at  the  very  moment 
a  sparrow  from  a  neighbouring  tree,  calling 
to  its  companion,  seemed  to  his  startled  ear  to 
say,  Jem,  Jem.  He  sprang  back  upon  the 
walk,  his  hand  fell  to  his  side,  his  whole  frame 
shook ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  recovered  him- 
self, than  he  fled  from  the  spot. 

In  a  short  time  afterwards  he  began  thus 
to  reason  with  himself:  "If  a  sparrow  could 
frighten  me  thus,  I  may  be  sure  that  what 
I  was  going  to  do  was  very  wicked." 

And  now  he  worked  with  greater  diligence 


THIRD     BOOK.  101 

than  ever,  nor  once  again  trusted  himself  to 
gaze  on  the  fruit  which  had  so  nearly  led  him 
to  commit  so  great  a  fault.  The  sparrows 
chirped  again  as  he  was  leaving  the  garden, 
but  he  no  longer  fled  at  the  sound. 

"  You  may  cry,  Jem,  Jem,"  said  he,  looking 
steadily  at  the  tree  in  which  several  were 
perched,  "  as  often  as  you  like  ;  I  don't  care  for 
you  now ;  but  this  I  will  say — I  will  never 
forget  how  good  a  friend  one  of  you  has  been 
to  me,  and  I  will  rob  none  of  your  nests  again." 


THE     ORPHAN     BOYS     TALE. 

STAY,  lady,  stay,  for  mercy's  sake, 
And  hear  a  helpless  orphan's  tale, 

Ah  !  sure  my  looks  must  pity  wake, 
'Tis  want  that  makes  my  cheek  so  pale. 

Yet  I  was  once  a  mother's  pride, 

And  my  brave  father's  hope  and  joy ; 


102  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

But  in  the  Nile's  proud  fight  he  died, 
And  I  am  now  an  orphan  boy. 

Poor  foolish  child !  how  pleased  was  I 

When  news  of  Nelson's  victory  came, 
Along  the  crowded  streets  to  fly, 

And  see  the  lighted  windows  flame ! 
To  force  me  home  my  mother  sought, 

She  could  not  bear  to  see  my  joy ; 
For  with  my  father's  life  'twas  bought, 

And  made  me  a  poor  orphan  boy. 

The  people's  shouts  were  long  and  loud, 

My  mother,  shuddering,  closed  her  ears ; 
"Rejoice!  rejoice ! "  still  cried  the  crowd; 

My  mother  answered  with  her  tears. 
"  Why  are  you  crying  thus,"  said  I, 

"  While  others  laugh  and  shout  with  joy  ? " 
She  kissed  me — and  with  such  a  sigh ! 

She  called  me  her  poor  orphan  boy. 


THIED     BOOK.  103 

"What  is  an  orphan  boy?"  I  cried, 

As  in  her  face  I  looked,  and  smiled; 
My  mother  through  her  tears  replied, 

"  You'll  know  too  soon,  ill-fated  child ! " 
And  now  they've  tolled  my  mother's  knell, 

And  I'm  no  more  a  parent's  joy; 
O  lady  I  have  learned  too  well 

What  'tis  to  be  an  orphan  boy ! 

Oh !  were  I  by  your  bounty  fed ! 

Nay,  gentle  lady,  do  not  chide — 
Trust  me,  I  mean  to  earn  my  bread ; 

The  sailor's  orphan  boy  has  pride. 
Lady,  you  weep ! — ha  ? — this  to  me  ? 

You'll  give  me  clothing,  food,  employ  ? 
Look  down,  dear  parents !  look,  and  see 

Your  happy,  happy  orphan  boy ! 


104 


UNCLE    JOHN'S 


AMY    S      GARDEN. 

AMY  lived  with  her  parents  in  the  large 
house  which  you  see  in  the  picture.  There 
were  many  pleasant  things  in  and  around  the 
house  to  make  the  little  girl's  life  happy,  but 
the  one  which  Amy  prized  most  was  her  gar- 
den. Her  mamma  gave  her  a  round  patch  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  told  her  she  might 
make  a  garden  there  for  herself.  You  can  see 
it  in  the  picture.  Her  kind  brother  Rupert 
dug  it  all  up  for  her,  and  showed  her  how  to 


THIKD     BOOK.  105 

plant  slips  and  cuttings,  and  to  sow  the  seeds. 
And  she  has  now  the  gayest  little  patch  in 
the  whole  large  garden  before  her  mamma's 
house. 

There  is  a  border  of  white  pinks  and  laven- 
der all  round.  One  small  bed  of  white  and 
red  roses.  Some  geraniums  and  verbena  in  a 
little  wire  basket,  round  which  climbs  the 
bright  yellow  canariensis.  And  numbers  of 
annuals  and  bulbous  roots,  which  bloom  in 
due  season  and  make  the  place  always  bright. 

And  in  the  centre  are  some  tall  hollyhocks 
and  dahlias,  under  which  the  sweetest  straw- 
berries blossom  and  ripen.  And  these  Amy 
gathers,  with  a  glad  heart  and  eager  hand,  for 
her  papa  and  mamma,  and  dear  brother  who 
has  helped  her  so  kindly.  Not  one  weed  is 
to  be  seen,  the  little  gardener  is  so  careful. 

But,  though  she  loves  her  garden  so  much, 
she  does  not  neglect  any  other  duty  to  attend 
to  it.  But,  since  she  has  had  it,  she  gets  up 


106  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

an  hour  earlier  every  morning;  and  that  is 
the  sweetest  time  of  all  for  working  out  of 
doors.  All  is  so  fresh  and  lovely.  All  is  so 
peaceful  and  still.  Except  the  joyful  song 
of  the  little  birds  that  welcome  in  the  new 
day. 


THE     CLEVER     BOY. 

ONE  OF  RANDY  THE   WOODCUTTER'S   FABLES. 
BT  UBS.  8.   a  HALL. 

"  WELL,  but  grandmamma !  "  expostulated 
Edwin,  "  everybody  says  I  am  very  clever ; — 
now  do  not  laugh,  everybody  says  so,  and 
what  everybody  says  must  be  true." 

"  First,"  replied  his  grandmother, "  I  do  not 
think  that  what  everybody  says  must  of  ne- 
cessity be  true ;  and,  secondly,  in  what  con- 
sists your  '  everybody  \ ' r 

"  Why,  there  is  nurse." 

"  Capital  authority !  an  old  woman  who 


THIED      BOOK.  107 

nursed  your  mother,  and,  consequently,  loves 
you  dearly ;  go  on." 

"  And  the  doctor ; — he  said  I  was  so  clever, 
the  other  morning,  when  I  swallowed  the  pill 
without  one  crooked  face." 

"  Go  on." 

"  All  the  servants." 

"  Excellent  servants,  Edwin,  for  the  situa- 
tions they  are  engaged  to  fill,  but  bad  judges 
of  a  young  gentleman's  cleverness.  The 
Kector 2 " 

"  That  is  cruel  of  you,  grandmamma,"  replied 
our  conceited  little  friend ;  "  you  know  he 
would  not  say  it,  because  I  did  not  get  through 
the  Commandment  in  the  class  last  Wednes- 
day evening." 

"  Does  your  papa  say  you  are  clever  \  " 

The  little  fellow  made  no  reply. 

"  Do  your  schoolfellows  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  big  boys." 

"Then  your   character  for  cleverness  de- 


108  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

pends  on  the  old  nurse,  the  still  older  doctor, 
and  the  servants ! " 

Edwin  was  again  silent. 

"  This,"  observed  his  grandmother,  "  recalls 
to  my  mind  one  of  Randy  the  Woodcutter's 
fables." 

A  very  pretty  little  tree  grew  near  a  quick- 
set hedge  that  was  cut  close  by  the  gardener, 
and  the  hedge  looked  up  to  the  tiny  little 
tree  with  great  respect :  it  was  so  short  itself 
that  it  fancied  the  tree  was  very  tall ;  there 
were  several  brambles  and  nettles  also  round 
about,  and  they  were  perpetually  praising  the 
little  tree,  and  increasing  its  vanity  by  their 
flattery.  One  day  an  old  rook,  the  oldest  in 
the  rookery,  perched  on  the  little  tree. 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  said  the  tiny  tree, 
"  by  troubling  me  with  your  familiarity  ?  the 
idea  of  such  a  bird  as  you  presuming  to  rest 
upon  my  branches ! "  and  the  little  tree  rustled 
its  leaves  and  looked  very  angry. 


THIRD     BOOK.  109 

"Caw!  Caw!"  quoth  the  rook,  which 
signified,  "  ah,  ah !  Why,  better  trees  than 
you  are  glad  to  give  me  a  resting  place;  I 
thought  you  would  be  gratified  by  the  compli- 
ment paid  you  by  alighting  on  your  quivering 
bough,  and  by  the  pleasure  of  my  company ;  a 
little  thing  like  you  could  hardly  have  pos- 
sessed much  attraction  for  king  rook;  but, 
indeed  I  only  perched  upon  you  because  you 
are  a  little  taller  than  the  brambles." 

The  dwarf  tree  considered  it  as  great  an 
insult  to  be  called  a  "  little  thing "  as  some 
folks  do  to  be  considered  "  not  clever ; "  and 
he  said  a  number  of  foolish  words ;  amongst 
others,  that  "  there  were  birds  that  could  not 
fly  over  him." 

"  Ay,  indeed,"  answered  the  rook,  "  wrens 
that  never  mount  higher  than  a  hedge  !  " 

The  rook  soon  flew  away  "  caw  cawing," 
at  the  folly  and  conceit  of  the  little  tree,  and 
meeting  the  gardener — "  Good  friend,"  he  said, 


110  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

"  I  have  just  now  been  much  struck  by  the 
conceit  and  absurdity  of  a  little  tree  beside 
yonder  hedge ;  it  is  rather  a  pretty  little  thing, 
and  might  be  brought  to  something,  if  it  were 
in  the  society  of  trees  taller  and  wiser  than 
itself;  but  while  it  has  no  other  companions 
than  brambles  and  bushes  it  will  never  try  to 
grow  tall :  do,  good  friend,  take  pity  on  this 
tree,  and  remove  it  into  better  company ; "  and 
the  gardener  had  a  great  respect  for  the  opin- 
ion of  the  old  rook,  and  went  the  next  day 
with  a  spade,  and  removed  the  turf,  and  bared 
the  roots  of  the  conceited  tree.  "It  is  a 
stunted  little  thing,"  he  said,  "  but  I  will  place 
it  in  society  that  will  draw  it  up"  and  he 
transplanted  it  into  a  plantation  where  there 
were  straight  and  noble  trees.  The  little  sap- 
ling felt  bitterly  its  own  insignificance,  and  its 
leaves  hung  helplessly  from  the  boughs ;  there 
were  neither  hedges,  nor  brambles,  nor  nettles 
to  natter  its  vanity — nothing  to  pamper  its 


THIRD    BOOK.  Ill 

self-love.  There  was  nothing  it  could  look 
down  on ;  the  woodbine  turned  to  the  oak  for 
support,  and  the  wild  vine  clung  around  the  ash. 
Thus,  when  the  little  tree  derived  no  pleasure 
from  looking  down,  it  began  to  look  up;  there 
was  a  proud  fierce  sound  amid  the  leaves  of 
the  noble  trees,  and  the  breezes  carried  the 
sound  far  and  wide.  The  gardener  had  planted 
the  little  tree  where  it  had  plenty  of  head- 
room, and  a  very  beautiful  beech,  which  grew 
near  it,  said, "  Dear  me,  how  you  are  shooting ! " 
and  several  of  the  good-natured  trees  remarked 
one  to  the  other,  that  "their  little  neighbor 
seemed  determined  to  grow."  This  was  quite 
true :  when  removed  from  the  babble  of  low- 
bred flattery,  and  placed  with  those  that  were 
better  and  higher  than  itself,  the  little  tree 
began  to  understand  that  false  praise,  that  is, 
praise  for  what  is  not  deserved,  is  the  bitterest 
of  all  censures ;  and  all  his  hope  was,  that  he 
might  grow  like  all  other  trees  to  be  useful 


112  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

according  to  his  kind.  One  stormy  night  a 
sheep  and  her  lamb  sheltered  beneath  his 
branches ;  that  made  the  tree,  now  no  longer 
little,  very  happy.  In  a  few  more  years  the 
gardener  laid  his  hand  on  his  stem  and  said 
to  a  gentleman  who  was  walking  with  him, 
"  See  what  cultivation — which  is  the  education 
of  trees — does !  this  was  a  little  stunted  thing; 
but  the  good  society  of  tall  saplings  drew  it 
up.  See  what  it  is  now ! " 

And  another  day,  when  there  was  a  very 
high  wind,  the  tree  saw  an  old  gray-headed 
rook  drifting  about,  and  he  invited  him  to 
rest,  and  the  rook  did  so,  and  the  tree  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  his  old  friend.  "  I  am  happy 
to  see  you  grandfather  rook,"  he  said — "  very 
happy  to  see  you — you  and  yours  are  quite 
welcome  to  rest  on  or  build  your  nests  among 
my  branches ;  but  for  you,  I  should  have  re- 
mained as  I  was,  to  be  fooled  and  flattered  by 
brambles  now — but  I  have  learned  to  let  acts 


THIED     BOOK.  113 

and  not  words  tell  what  I  am ; "  and  the  old 
rook  "  caw  cawed "  again  and  again,  and  sig- 
nified that  he  knew  the  time  would  come 
when  that  very  tree  would  be  remarked  alike 
for  its  vigor  and  its  beauty.  And  the  old 
rook  told  the  history  of  the  tree,  as  old  people 
sometimes  tell  histories,  over  and  over  again. 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  be  very  proud  if  it 
taught  you,  my  dear,  the  folly  of  believing 
that  you  are  clever,  because  people  who  do 
not  understand  what  cleverness  is,  say  you 


114 


THE     CHINAMAN. 

THE  Chinaman  is  a  native  of  China.  Get 
your  map  of  the  Eastern  Hemisphere  and 
see  if  you  can  put  your  finger  upon  China. 
It  would  take  many  weeks,  sailing  in  swift 
steamships,  to  go  from  America  to  China ;  and 
if  we  went  there,  we  should  find  it  very  differ- 
ent from  our  own  dear  home.  The  men  have 


THIRD     BOOK.  115 

dark  yellowish  skins,  and  wear  their  hair  in  a 
long  tail  behind,  all  the  hair  on  the  top  of 
their  head  being  shaved  off.  They  wear  skirts 
like  a  woman,  and  a  sort  of  loose  shirt  instead 
of  a  coat.  The  women  have  such  little  feet 
that  they  can  scarcely  walk  at  all.  When 
they  are  little  babies  the  doctor  cuts  off  all 
their  toes,  and  they  grow  up  with  short  club- 
bed feet.  How  would  you  like  that  ?  I  think 
you  would  not  like  your  mother  to  have  your 
feet  cut  so  that  you  could  neither  run,  skip, 
nor  jump. 

Many  useful  things  are  brought  to  us  from 
China  in  ships — silk,  shawls,  fans,  spices,  and 
tea. 

The  Tea-plant  is  a  native  of  China,  where 
it  grows  wild,  but  the  Chinese  know  the  value 
of  it  too  well  not  to  bestow  great  care  on  it. 
They  sow  the  seeds,  and  when  the  plants 
come  up,  they  transplant  them  in  neat  rows 
in  large  fields ;  but  it  is  three  years  before  the 


116  UNCLE 

leaves  are  fit  to  use.  About  March,  in  the 
third  year,  the  first  half-formed  tender  leaves 
are  plucked  one  by  one,  and  are  of  such  great  val- 
ue, that  they  are  kept  for  the  Emperor  of  China ; 
in  April,  the  second  crop  is  pulled,  which  is 
the  best  tea  sent  out  of  China ;  and  in  June, 
the  last  full-grown  thick  leaves,  which  are  the 
coarse  rough  tea,  are  gathered.  The  leaves 
are  first  dried  in  the  sun,  and  then  on  a  heat- 
ed plate  of  iron  till  they  shrivel  and  curl ;  then 
the  leaves  are  packed  in  chests,  to  be  sent  off 
in  ships. 

The  ships  carry  them  across  the  ocean,  and 
bring  them  to  our  country,  where  you  buy 
them  of  the  grocer. 

When  you  drink  your  next  cup  of  tea  you 
will  think  of  the  work  that  had  to  be  perform- 
ed before  it  reached  you,  and  of  the  many 
days  the  poor  Chinaman  had  to  work  in  the 
hot  sun  before  the  leaves  were  ready  to  send 
across  the  sea. 


THIED  BOOK.  ll 

THE  WILFUL  BOY. 

"  IT  blew  a  tremendous  gale  last  night," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Thompson  to  his  son  William, 
as  he  entered  the  breakfast-room ;  "  I  fear  we 
shall  hear  of  great  damage  done  to  the  ship- 
ping." 

"  Jones  has  just  told  me,"  replied  "William, 
"  that  there  are  two  brigs  on  the  sands  near  the 
Goodwin  light ;  and  only  think,  papa,  that 
noble  vessel,  which  sailed  with  the  morning 
tide  yesterday,  is  totally  wrecked !  She,  too, 
was  driven  on  the  sands  in  the  course  of  the 
night ;  and  though  it  seems  she  succeeded  in 
getting  off,  she  was  so  much  injured  that  she 
almost  immediately  afterwards  went  to  pieces, 
and  nearly  all  on  board  perished  with  her." 

"Put  on  your  hat,"  said  Mr.  Thompson, 
"  and  we  will  walk  to  the  pier ;  we  shall  get  back 
before  your  mamma  is  ready  for  breakfast." 

William  instantly  did  as  he  was  bid — not 


118  UNCLE 

that  it  was  Ms  usual  custom  to  do  so  ;  for,  like 
many  other  little  boys,  he  was  very  head- 
strong, and  too  often  preferred  doing  what  he 
liked  himself  to  obeying  his  parents.  Curios- 
ity now  prompted  obedience,  and  he  was  by 
his  father's  side  without  the  slightest  delay. 

No  sooner  had  they  reached  the  harbor 
than  a  fearful  sight  presented  itself.  The  sea 
was  still  violently  agitated,  and  the  waves 
continued  to  dash  over  the  end  and  sides  of 
the  pier,  while  the  wind,  still  blowing  with 
strong  gusts,  rendered  standing  almost  impos- 
sible. All  was  bustle  and  anxiety ;  the  sail- 
ors and  fishermen  were  passing  to  and  fro, 
too  much  occupied  by  their  own  thoughts  to 
heed  the  questions  which  the  mere  spectators 
put  to  them.  Several  dead  bodies  lay  extend- 
ed on  the  pier  head.  William  shuddered.  "  O 
pray  let  us  go  home,"  exclaimed  he ;  but  be- 
fore his  father  could  make  any  reply,  the  at- 
tention of  both  was  attracted  by  the  piercing 


THIRD     BOOK.  119 

lamentations  of  a  poor  woman,  who  was  kneel- 
ing by  the  side  of  a  boy,  apparently  about 
twelve  years  old,  and  who  was  wringing  her 
hands  in  an  agony  of  distress. 

"  O  Ned,  Ned !  "  she  sobbed,  "  and  is  it 
come  to  this  ?"  then  again  and  again  she  repeat- 
ed, "but  he  would  always  have  his  own  way." 

Mr.  Thompson,  turning  to  one  of  the  by- 
standers, asked  an  explanation  of  the  unhap- 
py mother's  words. 

"  I  don't  like  to  speak  ill  of  any  one,"  said 
the  fisherman  to  whom  he  addressed  himself, 
"  and  especially  of  them  who  can  no  longer 
defend  themselves :  but,  if  the  truth  must  be 
spoken,  the  poor  boy  that  lies  there  was  always 
a  sad,  wilful  lad,  who  would  have  his  own 
way,  come  what  would  of  it.  He  was  very  anx- 
ious to  go  to  sea ;  but  neither  his  father  nor 
mother  was  willing  he  should,  for  he  was  their 
only  child,  and  not  very  strong.  All  they 
said,  however,  was  of  no  use — nay,  perhaps, 


120  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

for  that  is  the  case  with  all  obstinate,  self- 
willed  people,  it  made  him  still  more  deter- 
mined to  have  his  own  way.  So  yesterday 
morning,  when  his  father  was  still  away  with 
the  mackerel  boats,  he  got  on  board  the  '  Kes- 
olution'  and  sailed  before  any  one  knew  any 
thing  about  the  matter.  His  mother  was  look- 
ing for  him,  half  distracted,  all  the  day,  and  has 
been  on  the  pier  the  greater  part  of  the  night. 
His  dead  body  has  just  been  hauled  up  with 
several  others  that  you  see  there." 

William  again  grasped  his  father's  hand, 
and,  hearing  another  shriek,  drew  him  from 
the  spot.  "  I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot  stay  any 
longer,"  cried  he.  Mr.  Thompson  obeyed  his 
motion ;  they  walked  quickly  away,  nor  was  a 
single  word  spoken  by  either  till  they  reach- 
ed the  house.  Mrs.  Thompson  was  waiting 
breakfast  for  them.  "William  sat  down  in  si- 
lence, but  the  expression  of  his  countenance 
having  caught  the  attention  of  his  mother,  she 


THIRD      BOOK.  121 

anxiously  asked  what  was  the  matter.  Wil- 
liam returned  no  answer,  but,  rising  from  his 
seat,  he  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and 
burst  into  a  violent  flood  of  tears. 

"  O  mamma ! "  sobbed  he,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak,  "  I  have  seen  such  a  sight !  I  have  heard 
such  cries  !  O,  I  shall  never  forget  them,"  and 
he  shuddered  at  the  recollection.  "  Forgive  me," 
he  continued  passionately,  "for  being  so  naugh- 
ty and  obstinate  as  I  know  I  have  often  been. 
Forgive  me  now ;  and  never,  never,  will  I  try 
to  have  my  own  way  again,  and  disobey  you." 

Mrs.  Thompson  looked  at  her  husband,  who, 
in  a  few  words,  explained  what  had  occurred. 

"Thus,"  said  he,  as  he  concluded  his  dis- 
tressing story,  "thus  has  God  thought  fit,  in  the 
instance  before  us,  to  punish  the  breach  of  his 
holy  commandment — '  Honour  thy  father  and 
thy  mother,  that  thy  days  may  be  long  in  the 
land.'  The  sea,  by  his  permission,  has  swal- 
lowed up  the  disobedient  child  almost  in  sight 


122 


UNCLE    JOHN'S 


of  his  home;  and  made  his  fate  an  awful 
warning  to  all  who,  like  him,  are  tempted  to 
forget  the  great  and  sacred  duty  they  owe  to 
their  parents." 


THE     GRIZZLY     BEAR. 

Is  he  not  a  savage  looking  beast,  as  he 
stands  so  still,  with  his  big  eyes  looking  so 
fierce  and  bright?  I  wonder  what  he  sees 


THIRD      BOOK.  123 

below  him,  that  makes  him  look  so  hungry ; 
perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  only  his  baby  bears  at 
play,  and  he  is  growling  out  to  them  a  caution 
not  to  be  too  rough. 

The  Grizzly  Bear  is  a  native  of  our  own 
country,  and  is  found  in  the  Kocky  Moun- 
tains. He  is  the  largest  and  most  savage  of 
the  whole  bear  family,  and  will  attack  both 
men  and  animals.  He  is  so  strong  that  he 
can  pull  down  the  great  buffalo  as  easily  as 
you  lift  your  kitten  from  the  floor.  His  large 
paws  have  long  sharp  claws,  and  when  he  has 
once  fastened  these  in  man  or  beast,  nothing 
but  death  will  make  him  let  go  his  hold. 

It  is  very  dangerous  to  hunt  these  bears, 
as  the  hunter  must  climb  high  mountains  and 
risk  his  life  in  many  ways  before  he  reaches 
their  dens.  But  their  skin  and  fat  are  very 
valuable,  so  they  are  often  hunted  both  by 
white  men  and  Indians.  Before  the  white 
men  came  to  America,  the  Indians  used  the 


124  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

bear  skins  for  blankets  and  mats,  but  now 
they  sell  them  for  whiskey,  food,  beads,  nails, 
and  sometimes  money,  to  the  whites,  who  use 
both  the  fur  and  skins. 


THE     PET     FKOGS. 

ALMOST  all  children  are  fond  of  pets,  and  I 
dare  say  many  of  my  young  readers  have  a  pet 
of  some  sort,  a  canary,  dog,  pony,  or  rabbit, 
some  pretty  animal  or  bird  to  feed  and  caress. 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  about  a  boy  who  had 
three  pet  frogs.  You  may,  perhaps,  say,  What 
ugly  pets !  but  you  are  mistaken.  The  next 
time  you  are  near  a  pond,  catch  a  frog  and  ex- 
amine it.  It  will  not  hurt  you ;  be  sure  you 
do  not  hurt  it.  When  you  have  looked  at  it 
carefully  put  it  down  and  watch  its  movements, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  find  something  to  ad- 


THIRD      BOOK.  125 

mire  both  in  its  looks  and  actions.  But  you 
will  say,  perhaps,  that  frogs  are  not  so  inter- 
esting as  birds,  and  that  they  can  do  nothing 
to  make  you  like  them :  you  may  say,  also, 
that  they  can  neither  sing  nor  do  any  thing 
else  to  please  you ;  but  I  say,  this  will  depend 
upon  whether  you  take  an  interest  in  them  or 
not.  You  will  say,  perhaps,  that  you  could 
never  teach  a  frog  any  thing,  and  that  it 
would  never  know  you ;  but  I  know  a  youth 
who  was  a  little  boy  nine  years  ago;  and 
about  that  time,  while  rambling  in  the  pleas- 
ant fields,  he  caught  three  small  frogs  and  car- 
ried them  home  with  him.  When  he  got 
home  his  father  and  mother  thought  he  had 
made  a  very  strange  choice  in  selecting  three 
such  uncommon  pets ;  but  they  did  not  for- 
bid him  to  keep  them,  for  he  was  a  very  kind 
boy,  and  never  hurt  any  thing. 

Well,  this  little  boy  kept  his  three  little 
frogs  in  a  fishing-can  for  some  time,  and  put 


126  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

some  grass  in  with  them,  and  they  seemed 
happy  enough ;  but  he  could  not  see  them  eat 
any  thing,  and  he  thought  they  would  be 
starved,  and  this  he  could  not  think  of  with- 
out pain,  and  yet  he  did  not  like  to  take  them 
back  again  to  their  native  fields,  so  he  thought 
that  he  would  let  them  have  an  opportunity 
of  feeding  themselves. 

He  dug  a  small  pond  in  his  father's  garden, 
not  much  bigger  than  a  wash-hand  basin, 
which  he  lined  well  with  clay.  At  one  side 
of  this  pond  he  made  a  small  cave  as  a  sort  of 
apartment,  and  covered  it  over  with  earth. 
He  next  got  some  grass  turf  and  made  a  grass 
plot  round  the  pond,  and  finally,  having  filled 
the  pond  with  water,  and  sprinkled  some  loose 
blades  of  grass  on  the  surface,  he  put  the 
three  young  strangers  into  it,  one  by  one. 
Before  he  put  them  in,  however,  he  gave  them 
names;  the  largest  he  called  Dick,  the  next 
he  called  Bessy,  and  the  third  he  called  Fan- 


THIRD     BOOK. 


ny.  Master  Dick  lie  put  at  the  edge  of  the 
pond,  and  plurnp  lie  went  to  the  bottom  in- 
stantly, and  there  he  lay  quiet  enough.  Next, 
Miss  Bessy  was  released  from  the  tin  can,  and 
plump  she  went  to  the  bottom  also.  Next 
it  came  to  the  turn  of  Miss  Fanny,  but  she 
was  very  little  and  very  much  wanting  in 
experience,  and  she  knew  not  what  was  good 
for  her,  so  she  started  off  and  went  hopping 
about  the  garden  like  a  grasshopper.  Away 
went  the  little  boy  after  her,  dipping  down 
his  hand  every  second  to  catch  her  ;  but  she 
was  too  active  and  quick-sighted  for  him; 
away  she  went  and  leaped  into  the  middle  of 
a  large  tulip  bed,  where  she  seemed  to  think 
herself  safe.  The  little  boy  respected  his  fa- 
ther's tulips  and  did  not  know  how  to  re- 
move Miss  Fanny  ;  but  he  wished  very  much 
to  put  her  with  her  companions,  so  he  got  a 
long  stick  and  gently  touched  her.  Off  she 
started  again,  with  increased  vigor  from  the 


128  LTNCLE    JOHN'S 

rest  she  had  taken,  and  the  little  boy  after  her. 
At  length  he  thought  he  was  sure  of  having 
her,  and  made  a  stoop  to  catch  her,  but  miss- 
ing his  aim,  he  fell  among  a  number  of  carna- 
tion pots,  broke  the  carnations,  and  scratched 
his  face  sadly  with  the  carnation  sticks. 
Well,  this  little  boy  was  much  vexed  at  the 
mischief  he  had  done,  and  forgot  all  about 
Miss  Fanny,  and  she  went  he  knew  not  where. 
He  fixed  the  carnation  sticks  in  the  pots 
again,  and,  having  removed  the  broken  stems 
and  put  all  things  in  order,  he  began  the 
chase  afresh;  but  he  looked  and  looked  in 
vain — nowhere  could  he  see  Miss  Fanny.  At 
last  he  gave  up  the  pursuit  and  returned  to  his 
little  pond.  He  was  much  pleased,  however, 
when  he  got  there,  to  see  Master  Dick  and 
Miss  Bessy  peeping  their  heads  out  at  the 
edge.  When  he  saw  them,  he  thought  with- 
in himself,  how  much  wiser  they  were  than 
silly  Fanny ;  and  having  left  them  all  safe,  he 


THIRD     BOOK.  129 

went  to  bed,  quite  pleased  with,  the  after- 
noon's pleasure. 

"When  this  little  boy  awoke  in  the  morn- 
ing, which  was  very  early,  for  he  was  fond  of 
seeing  many  things  that  can  be  seen  only  by 
early  rising,  he  went  to  his  frog  pond  to  in- 
spect his  amphibious  family,  You  know,  I 
hope,  my  children,  that  amphibious  means 
any  animal  that  can  live  either  in  the  water 
or  on  land.  When  he  came  to  the  pond  he 
saw  no  signs  of  the  frogs ;  he  gently  moved 
the  floating  grass  on  one  side,  but  they  were 
not  at  the  bottom,  so  he  concluded  they  had 
either  gone  abroad  in  the  garden,  or  else  that 
they  had  concealed  themselves  in  the  subter- 
ranean cavern.  So  he  waited  patiently  till 
evening  came,  and  then  renewed  his  visit. 
He  walked  gently  up  to  the  pond  and  looked 
cautiously  into  it;  and  sure  enough  there 
were  his  three  friends,  Dick,  Bessy,  and  Fanny, 
all  sticking  their  heads  out  of  the  water,  as  if 
9 


130  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

looking  for  their  breakfasts ;  but,  when  they 
saw  him,  plump  they  went  to  the  bottom. 

Many  and  many  were  the  visits  he  paid  to 
these  queer  little  things  without  being  able  to 
make  acquaintance  with  them:  they  seemed 
too  shy  for  much  familiarity. 

But  one  morning,  after  there  had  been 
some  rain  in  the  night,  he  went  forth  as  usual, 
and  lo  and  behold,  there  he  met  all  three 
coming  home  across  the  garden.  He  thought 
he  would  make  free  with  them,  and  after  one 
or  two  trials  he  caught  Master  Dick,  and 
taking  him  into  his  hand,  caressed  him,  and 
smoothed  him  gently  with  the  soft  leaf  of  a 
rose  campion  plant,  which  he  happened  to 
have  in  his  hand.  'Master  Dick  did  not  make 
much  effort  to  get  away,  but  seemed  to  be 
pleased.  Many  and  many  times,  and  for 
several  years,  did  this  little  boy  render  himself 
thus  familiar  with  the  frogs ;  first  one  and  then 
another,  and  at  length  they  all  became  quite 


THIRD      BOOK.  131 

tame,  and  when  he  came  near,  they  did  not 
jump  into  the  pond  as  they  had  done  at  first, 
but  remained  outside,  and  looked  boldly  up  at 
him,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Good  morning,  or 
good  evening,  sir,"  though  they  would  in- 
stantly rush  into  the  water  if  any  one  else 
came  near  them. 

The  frogs  seemed  to  know  his  voice,  and 
when  he  stood  still  they  would  sometimes  get 
on  to  his  shoe,  as  if  in  full  confidence  of  his 
kindness. 

Nine  years  have  now  passed  since  little 
Master  Dick,  little  Miss  Bessy,  and  little  Miss 
Fanny  first  became  the  property  by  capture 
of  this  little  boy.  But  the  little  boy  has  now 
become  a  tall  youth,  and  Dick  has  become  a 
fall-grown  gentleman  frog,  and  Miss  Bessy 
and  the  giddy  Miss  Fanny,  two  fine  handsome 
full-grown  lady  frogs.  And  they  are  all  on 
the  same  friendly  footing,  except  that  the 
youth  having  started  in  the  world  to  obtain 


.132  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

his  support  has  become  somewhat  a  stranger. 
But  there  the  frogs  are  still,  tenants  at  will, 
and  there  they  are  likely  to  remain  at  present. 
Now,  my  little  friends,  how  do  you  like 
frogs  by  this  time  ?  They  are  not  nasty  ugly 
things,  are  they?  I  am  sure  you  will  say 
"  No."  And  I  wish  you  to  look  upon  all  things 
with  the  same  interest  and  good  feeling.  You 
will  find  your  walks  so  pleasant  when  in  the 
country,  if  you  find  an  old  acquaintance,  as  it 
were,  in  every  living  thing  and  plant. 


133 


AN    INDIAN    WIGWAM. 

ALL  my  little  readers  have  heard  of 
Indians,  the  red  men  who  lived  in  this  country 
before  the  white  men  came  to  drive  them 


134 

away ;  but  perhaps  there  is  some  little  boy  or 
girl  who  would  like  to  hear  more  about  these 
poor  red  men  of  the  forest. 

At  the  time  when  Christopher  Columbus 
discovered  America  the  whole  of  this  vast 
country  was  inhabited  by  Indians.  Now,  great 
cities  stand  where  these  savages  once  hunted 
the  moose  and  deer,  and  the  poor  red  man  has 
been  driven  further  and  further  away  from  his 
old  home,  till  now  there  is  scarcely  one  of 
them  to  be  found  east  of  the  Mississippi  River. 

When  the  Indians  were  powerful  they 
were  very  fond  of  war.  Before  they  went  to 
war  they  would  paint  their  bodies,  and  string 
shells  and  stones  round  their  necks  and  arms, 
put  gay  feathers  in  their  hair,  and  tattoo  their 
faces.  Tattooing  is  pricking  the  skin  in  pat- 
terns, and  then  filling  the  little  holes  with 
paint. 

While  the  men  dressed  so  gaily  and  went 
to  war,  the  women  were  not  allowed  any  finery, 


THI  ED    BOOK.  135 

but  were  forced  to  stay  at  home  and  cook, 
draw  the  water  and  tend  the  papooses  or  ba- 
bies, which  they  carried  strapped  to  their 
backs.  If  they  found  any  pretty  shell  or  stone 
they  did  not  dare  to  wear  it,  but  carried  it  to 
the  men  to  make  them  finer. 

As  the  Indians  never  lived  very  long  in 
one  place,  they  never  built  houses  such  as  we 
live  in,  but  made  themselves  wigwams.  A 
wigwam  was  a  number  of  sticks  driven  into 
the  ground,  and  covered  with  bark  leather  and 
branches  of  trees.  In  the  picture  you  can  see 
their  form.  The  Indian  you  see  is  taking  his 
ease,  lying  on  the  ground  and  smoking  his  pipe, 
while  his  wife  cooks  the  dinner  at  the  fire  you 
see  by  the  tent.  The  little  brown  boy  has 
found  his  father's  bow,  and  struts  about  in 
high  glee,  while  the  papoose,  just  taken  from 
his  mother's  back,  is  propped  up  in  his  queer 
cradle  against  the  wigwam. 


136  UNCLE     JOHN    8 

THE    WOESTED    STOCKING. 

A    TRUE    STORY. 

"  FATHER  will  have  done  the  great  chimney 
to-night,  won't  he,  mother  ? "  said  little  Tom 
Howard  as  he  stood  waiting  for  his  father's 
breakfast,  which  he  carried  to  him  at  his  work 
every  morning. 

"He  said  he  hoped  all  the  scaffolding 
would  be  down  to-night,"  answered  the  mother, 
"and  this  will  be  a  fine  sight;  for  I  never 
like  the  ending  of  those  great  chimneys — it's 
risky — thy  father's  to  be  the  last  up." 

"  Eh !  then,  but  I'll  go  and  see  him,  and 
help  'em  give  a  shout  afore  he  comes  down," 
said  Tom. 

"  And  then,"  continued  his  mother,  "  if  all 
goes  right,  we  are  to  have  a  frolic  to-morrow, 
and  go  into  the  country,  and  take  our  dinners, 
and  spend  all  the  day  amongst  the  woods." 

"  Hurrah ! "  cried  Tom,  as  he  ran  off  to  his 


THIRD     BOOK.  137 

father's  place  of  work,  with  a  can  of  milk  in 
one  hand,  and  some  bread  in  the  other.  His 
mother  stood  in  the  door  watching  him  as  he 
went  merrily  whistling  down  the  street ;  and 
then  she  thought  of  the  dear  father  he  was 
going  to,  and  then  her  heart  sought  its  sure 
refuge,  and  she  prayed  to  God  to  protect  and 
bless  her  treasures. 

Tom,  with  light  heart,  pursued  his  way  to 
his  father,  and  leaving  him  his  breakfast  went 
to  his  own  work,  which  was  at  some  distance. 
In  the  evening,  on  his  way  home,  he  went 
round  to  see  how  his  father  was  getting 
on.  James  Howard,  the  father,  and  a  number 
of  other  workmen,  had  been  building  one  of 
those  lofty  chimneys  which,  in  our  great  manu- 
facturing towns,  almost  supply  the  place  of 
other  architectural  beauty.  This  chimney  was 
one  of  the  highest  and  most  tapering  that  had 
ever  been  erected;  and  as  Tom,  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  slanting  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 


138  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

looked  up  to  the  top  in  search  of  his  father, 
his  heart  almost  sunk  within  him  at  the  ap- 
palling height.  The  scaffold  was  almost  all 
down ;  the  men  at  the  bottom  were  removing 
the  last  beams  and  poles.  Tom's  father  stood 
alone  on  the  top.  He  looked  around  to  see 
that  every  thing  was  right ;  and  then  waving 
his  hat  in  the  air,  the  men  below  answered 
him  with  a  long  loud  cheer ;  little  Tom  shout- 
ing as  heartily  as  any  of  them.  As  their 
voices  died  away,  however,  they  heard  a  very 
different  sound — a  cry  of  alarm  and  horror 
from  above !  "  The  rope !  the  rope ! "  The 
men  looked  round,  and,  coiled  upon  the  ground, 
lay  the  rope,  which,  before  the  scaffolding  was 
removed,  should  have  been  fastened  to  the  top 
of  the  chimney,  for  Tom's  father  to  come  down 
by!  The  scaffolding  had  been  taken  down 
without  remembering  to  take  the  rope  up. 
There  was  a  dead  silence.  They  all  knew  it 
was  impossible  to  throw  the  rope  up  high 


THIED     BOOK.  139 

enough,  or  skilfully  enough,  to  reach  the  top 
of  the  chimney ;  or,  if  possible,  it  would  hard- 
ly have  been  safe.  They  stood  in  silent  dis- 
may, unable  to  give  any  help,  or  think  of  any 
means  of  safety. 

And  Tom's  father.  He  walked  round  and 
round  the  little  circle,  the  dizzy  height  seem- 
ing every  moment  to  grow  more  fearful,  and 
the  solid  earth  further  and  further  from  him. 
In  the  sudden  panic  he  lost  his  presence  of 
mind,  and  his  senses  almost  failed  him.  He 
shut  his  eyes ;  he  felt  as  if,  the  next  moment, 
he  must  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  ground 
below. 

The  day  had  passed  as  industriously  and 
swiftly  as  usual  with  Tom's  mother  at  home. 
She  was  always  busily  employed  for  her  hus- 
band and  children,  in  some  way  or  other ;  and 
to-day  she  had  been  harder  at  work  than 
usual,  getting  ready  for  the  holiday  to-morrow. 
She  had  just  finished  all  her  preparations,  and 


140  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

her  thoughts  were  silently  thanking  God  for 
her  happy  home,  and  for  all  the  blessings  of 
life,  when  Tom  ran  in.  His  face  was  as  white 
as  ashes ;  and  he  could  hardly  get  his  words 
out, "  Mother !  mother !  He  cannot  get  down." 

"Who,  lad?  Thy  father?"  asked  his 
mother. 

"  They've  forgotten  to  leave  him  the  rope," 
answered  Tom,  still  scarcely  able  to  speak. 
His  mother  started  up,  horror-struck,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  paralyzed ;  then  pressing 
her  hands  over  her  face,  as  if  to  shut  out  the 
terrible  picture,  and  breathing  a  prayer  to  God 
for  help,  she  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

When  she  reached  the  place  where  her 
husband  was  at  work,  a  crowd  had  collected 
round  the  foot  of  the  chimney,  and  stood  there 
quite  helpless,  gazing  up  with  faces  full  of  sor- 
row. "He  says  he'll  throw  himself  down," 
exclaimed  they,  as  Mrs.  Howard  came  up ; "  he 
is  going  to  throw  himself  down." 


THIED     BOOK.  141 

"Thee  munna  do  that,  lad!"  cried  the 
wife,  with  clear,  hopeful  voice ;  "  thee  munna 
do  that.  Wait  a  bit.  Take  off  thy  stocking, 
lad,  and  unravel  it,  and  let  down  the  thread 
with  a  bit  of  mortar.  Dost  hear  me,  Jem  ? " 

The  man  made  a  sign  of  assent,  for  it 
seemed  as  if  he  could  not  speak ;  and  taking 
off  his  stocking  unravelled  the  worsted  thread 
row  after  row.  The  people  stood  round  in 
breathless  silence  and  suspense,  wondering 
what  Tom's  mother  could  be  thinking  of,  and 
why  she  sent  him  in  such  haste  for  the  car- 
penter's ball  of  twine. 

"  Let  down  one  end  of  the  thread  with  a  bit 
of  stone,  and  keep  fast  hold  of  the  other,"  cried 
she  to  her  husband.  The  little  thread  came 
waving  down  the  tall  chimney,  blown  hither 
and  thither  by  the  wind ;  but  at  last  it  reached 
the  outstretched  hands  that  were  waiting  for 
it.  Tom  held  the  ball  of  string  while  his 
mother  tied  one  end  of  it  to  tne  worsted  thread. 


142  UNCLE  JOHN'S 

"  Now  pull  it  up  slowly,"  cried  she  to  her  hus- 
band ;  and  she  gradually  unwound  the  string 
as  the  worsted  drew  it  gently  up.  It  stopped, — 
the  string  had  reached  her  husband.  "  Now  hold 
the  string  fast,  and  pull  it  up,"  cried  she ;  and 
the  string  grew  heavy,  and  hard  to  pull ;  for 
Torn  and  his  mother  had  fastened  the  thick 
rope  to  it.  They  watched  it  gradually  and 
slowly  uncoiling  from  the  ground  as  the  string 
was  drawn  higher.  There  was  but  one  coil 
left.  It  had  reached  the  top.  "  Thank  God ! 
thank  God ! "  exclaimed  the  wife.  She  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands  in  silent  prayer,  and 
tremblingly  rejoiced.  The  rope  was  up.  The 
iron  to  which  it  should  be  fastened  was  there 
all  right ;  but  would  her  husband  be  able  to 
make  use  of  them  ?  would  not  the  terror  of 
the  past  hour  have  so  unnerved  him  as  to  pre- 
vent him  from  taking  the  necessary  measures 
for  his  safety  ?  She  did  not  know  the  strength 
that  the  sound  of  her  voice,  so  calm  and  stead- 


THIED     BOOK.  143 

fast,  had  filled  him  with — as  if  the  little 
thread  that  carried  him  the  hope  of  life  once 
more,  had  carried  him  some  portion  of  that 
faith  in  God  which  nothing  ever  destroyed  or 
shook  in  her  true  heart.  She  did  not  know 
that,  as  he  waited  there,  the  words  came  over 
him,  "  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  O  my  sotd  ? 
and  why  art  thou  disquieted  within  me  ?  Hope 
thou  in  God."  She  lifted  up  her  heart  to 
God  for  hope  and  strength.  She  could  do 
nothing  more  for  her  husband ;  and  her  heart 
turned  to  God,  and  rested  on  him  as  on  a 
rock. 

There  was  a  great  shout.  "He's  safe, 
mother,  he's  safe,"  cried  little  Tom.  "  Thou'st 
saved  me,  Mary,"  cried  her  husband,  folding 
her  in  his  arms.  "  But  what  ails  thee  ?  Thou 
seem'st  more  sorry  than  glad  about  it."  But 
Mary  could  not  speak ;  and,  if  the  strong  arm 
of  her  husband  had  not  held  her  up,  she 
would  have  fallen  to  the  ground :  the  sudden 


144  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

joy  after  such  great  fear,  had  overcame  her. 
"Tom,"  said  his  father,  "let  thy  mother  lean 
on  thy  shoulder,  and  we  will  take  her  home." 
And  in  their  happy  home  they  poured  forth 
their  thanks  to  God  for  his  great  goodness; 
and  their  happy  life  together  felt  dearer  and 
holier  for  the  peril  it  had  been  in,  and  for  the 
nearness  that  the  danger  had  brought  them 
unto  God.  And  the  holiday  next  day — was 
it  not  indeed  a  thanksgiving  day  ? 


THIED     BOOK.  145 


ON     THE     SEA. 

DEAR  papa  is  on  the  sea, 

Willie  boy ! 

Dear  papa  is  on  the  sea, 
Winning  gold  for  you  and  me, 
You'll  pray  for  him  at  ray  knee, 

Willie  boy,  Willie  boy ! 

Your  papa  is  good  and  true, 

Willie  boy! 

Your  papa  is  good  and  true, 
To  your  mamma  and  to  you, 
He's  beloved  by  all  the  crew, 

Willie  boy,  Willie  boy ! 
10 


146 


Then  pray  as  here  you  kneel, 

Willie  boy ! 

Then  pray  as  here  you  kneel, 
That  distress  he  ne'er  may  feel, 
As  he  guides  the  sheet  and  wheel, 

Willie  boy,  Willie  boy! 

Should  hurricanes  arise, 

Willie  boy ! 
Should  hurricanes  arise, 
Lashing  seas  up  to  the  skies, 
May  his  guide  be  the  ALL  WISE, 

Willie  boy,  Willie  boy ! 

And  the  tempest's  gloomy  path, 

Willie  boy ! 

And  the  tempest's  gloomy  path, 
May  he  brave  its  wildest  wrath, 
While  it  strews  the  deep  with  death, 

Willie  boy,  Willie  boy! 


THIRD     BOOK. 


And  on  wings  of  mercy  borne, 

Willie  boy  ! 

And  on  wings  of  mercy  borne, 
May  he  soon  and  safe  return, 
To  make  glad  the  hearts  that  mourn. 

Willie  boy,  Willie  boy  ! 


LITTLE    THINGS. 

"  OH  !  how  I  wish  I  was  a  man,"  said  little 
Henry,  laying  down  his  book  with  a  deep 
sigh. 

"And  why,  my  son,  do  you  so  earnestly 
wish  to  be  a  man  ? "  said  his  mother. 

"  Because  I  would  like  to  do  some  great 
actions  and  be  useful  to  my  country,  like  the 
men  mentioned  in  this  book." 

"Those  great  men  were  all  little  boys 
once,"  said  his  mother. 


148  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

"  But,  mother,  do  you  think  they  ever  did 
any  thing  very  useful  when  they  were  boys  ? " 

"  I  should  think  it  very  probable,"  replied 
his  mother,  "  as  all  children  can  be  useful  if 
they  try." 

"  But,  mother,  what  can  such  little  boys  do  ? 
I  am  sure  I  cannot  do  any  good." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  if  you  seek  for  opportu- 
nities, and  keep  always  in  your  mind  the  wish 
to  do  good  to  others.  Never  let  an  occasion, 
however  trifling  it  may  appear,  pass  by  unim- 
proved by  at  least  the  effort  to  be  of  use.  I 
cannot  talk  with  you  now,  as  I  must  go  out ;  but, 
if  you  will  walk  with  me,  as  I  am  going  to 
make  some  purchases,  perhaps  we  shall  find 
something  to  doy  on  our  way." 

"  Oh !  yes ! "  said  Henry,  as  he  ran  to  get  his 
cap — looking  very  doubtful,  however,  as  to  his 
ability  to  do  any  good. 

As  Henry  and  his  mother  pursued  their 
walk  there  were  many  things  to  interest  them ; 


THIRD     BOOK.  149 

but  Henry  saw  no  opportunity  to  do  any  act  of 
usefulness  for  some  time.  At  length  he  no- 
ticed an  old  gentleman  before  them,  and  had 
remarked  to  his  mother  that  he  seemed  very 
feeble,  when  a  rude  boy  in  passing  pushed  his 
cane  from  his  hand  and  ran  on,  regardless  of 
the  inconvenience  he  was  causing. 

Henry  sprang  forward  directly,  picked  up 
the  cane,  and  with  a  very  modest  bow,  return- 
ed it  to  the  old  man. 

"  Thank  you,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man,  and 
his  face  expressed  how  sincerely  he  said, "  thank 
you?  Henry  returned  to  his  mother,  whose 
smile  of  approval  expressed  her  pleasure  at  his 
kind  act.  She  said :  "  You  did  not  have  long 
to  wait  for  an  opportunity  of  being  useful." 

"  Is  that  little  thing  being  useful,  mother  ? " 

"  Certainly  it  is.  Have  you  not  spared 
the  old  man  the  pain  of  stooping  for  his  stick, 
and  given  him  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  all 


150  UNCLE 

little  boys  are  not  regardless  of  age  and  in- 
firmities ? " 

As  they  pursued  their  way,  Henry  thought 
very  seriously  of  his  mother's  words,  and  again 
resolved  to  be  watchful  for  an  opportunity  of 
being  of  service. 

They  had  reached  the  window  of  a  large, 
elegant  toy-shop,  and  Henry  left  his  mother's 
side  to  look  at  and  admire  the  beautiful  things, 
thinking,  as  most  children  do,  that  all  the 
toys  would  make  him  very  happy.  A  servant 
girl,  heavily  laden  with  marketing,  let  fall  from 
her  basket  a  large  fine  cantelope.  It  rolled 
away  very  fast,  and  finally  over  the  curb-stone 
into  the  street.  The  poor  girl  looked  worried 
and  perplexed.  Both  arms  had  baskets  on 
them,  and  the  street  was  much  crowded.  Hen- 
ry, who  was  looking  round  at  that  moment, 
saw  her  distress  and  hastened  to  relieve  her 
trouble.  He  picked  up  the  cantelope,  placed 
it  securely  in  her  basket,  and  without  waiting 


Till  ED    BOOK.  151 

to  hear  the  many  thanks  which  the  warm- 
hearted Irish  girl  poured  upon  him,  returned 
to  his  mother,  who  again  smiled  upon  him  with- 
out making  any  remark.  They  now  turned  into 
another  street,  and  Henry  said,  "  Mother,  shall 
we  soon  go  home,  I  am  so  very  hungry  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  dear;  but  if  you  need  something 
to  eat,  you  may  step  to  that  cake-baker's  on  the 
other  side  and  get  yourself  a  cake,  while  I  make 
my  purchases  in  this  drygoods  store ;  and  then 
you  can  return  for  me.  Here  are  some  pen- 
nies." 

Henry  took  the  pennies  and  his  mother 
passed  into  the  store,  while  he  skipped  away 
to  buy  his  cake.  Henry's  mother  had  finish- 
ed her  business  before  he  returned. 

"  Well,  my  son,  are  you  ready  to  go  home  ? 
I  have  now  made  all  my  purchases." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  replied  Henry. 

"  And  how  did  you  like  your  cake." 

"  I  did  not  buy  one,  mother,"  said  Henry. 


152  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

"  Why  not  ? "  asked  his  mother.  "  I  hope 
you  have  not  been  buying  candy,  which  you 
know  I  do  not  like  you  to  eat." 

"  No,  mother,  I  did  not  buy  candy.  I  saw 
a  little  match-girl  looking  veiy  tired  and  very 
hungry,  and  I  gave  her  my  pennies.  I  knew  I 
should  have  a  nice  dinner  at  home,  and  I  do 
not  think  she  will." 

"Another  little  good"  said  his  mother. 
"  Do  you  not  begin  to  realize  that  even  little 
boys  may  be  useful  when  they  try. " 

As  they  pursued  their  walk,  Henry's 
mother  talked  to  him  about  usefulness.  "  You 
know,  my  son,  that  it  is  not  sufficient  that  we 
wish  to  do  good ;  we  must  be  actively  useful, 
we  must  be  constantly  seeking  for  opportuni- 
ties for  use.  To  help  our  fellow  creatures  in 
every  way  we  can  is  well  pleasing  to  the  Lord, 
who  tells  us  in  his  Holy  Word,  to  love  our 
neighbors  as  ourselves.  Even  high  and  holy 
thoughts  do  not  benefit  mankind  unless  there 


THIRD     BOOK.  153 

is  some  channel  open  for  them  to  flow  into  act- 
ive use.  The  hermit  in  his  cell  may  have 
pure  and  holy  thoughts,  "but  he  does  no  good 
to  his  fellow  men  by  thinking  good  things. 
They  must  be  brought  into  action  to  be  of  use. 
But  here  we  are  at  home,  and  now  must  stop 
talking." 

Henry's  mother  went  directly  to  the  nurs- 
ery on  their  return,  and  he  followed  her  as 
soon  as  he  had  hung  up  his  cap.  He  found 
his  little  darling  brother  laughing  with 
great  glee  to  see  his  mother  again.  Henry 
had  a  frolic  with  him,  and  then  took  his  book 
to  continue  his  reading,  which  his  walk  had 
interrupted.  His  mother  was  obliged  to  send 
the  nurse  down  stairs  for  a  little  while,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  was  herself  called  down  to 
see  the  man  who  had  brought  home  her  pur- 
chases. She  placed  the  baby  on  the  floor  and 
left  the  room.  Henry  was  much  engaged 
with  his  book,  but  when  he  heard  the  baby 


154  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

fret  at  being  left,  lie  quietly  laid  down  his 
book  and  devoted  himself  to  amusing  the  lit- 
tle fellow.  "When  his  mother  returned  she 
kissed  him  affectionately,  and  asked  him  if  he 
still  thought  it  impossible  for  little  boys  to  be 
useful.  "  You  see,  my  son,  you  have  had/0^r 
different  opportunities  of  doing  acts  of  kind- 
ness, which  is  but  another  name  for  being 
useful.  If  children  desire  to  be  truly  good 
men  and  women,  they  must  begin,  while  chil- 
dren, to  do  every  good  which  is  in  their  pow- 
er, and  the  "little  things"  thus  done  may 
exercise  a  power  over  their  whole  after  lives." 
If  Henry  could  have  known  all  the  good 
his  little  actions  had  done,  he  would  have 
been  convinced  that  it  was  in  the  power  of 
children  to  be  useful.  The  old  man,  when 
he  returned  home,  took  his  little  grandson  on 
his  knee,  and  told  him  of  the  good  little  boy 
who  had  picked  up  his  cane,  and  fe,  too,  re- 
solved when  he  went  out  to  help  all  the  old 


THIED    BOOK.  155 

p  eople  lie  could  see.  The  small  seed  was  sown 
to  bring  forth,  perhaps,  much  fruit.  The 
Irish  girl,  disheartened  and  fatigued  with  her 
heavy  burden,  forgot  her  troubles  while  tell- 
ing her  fellow  servants  of  the  sweet  boy  with 
his  sunny  face  who  had  run  into  the  street  to 
pick  up  her  cantelope.  The  poor  little  match- 
girl  made  her  sick  mother's  eyes  brighten  with 
pleasure,  when  she  brought  to  her  two  beau- 
tiful peaches  which  Henry's  gift  enabled  her 
to  purchase ;  and  the  little  baby's  look  of  love 
at  his  brother,  who  left  his  book  to  play  with 
him,  was  worth  a  thousand  selfish  pleasures. 
Henry's  mother  kept  constantly  reminding 
him  that  little  boys  would,  in  time,  become 
men,  and  that  for  the  present  he  must  be  con- 
tented with  "little  things,"  and  remember 
that  the  Holy  Word  says,  that  "  As  thy  day 
is,  so  shall  thy  strength  be." 


156  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

THE   BALLOON. 


DLD  you  ever  see  a  balloon  ?  It  is  a  large 
silk  bag  filled  with  gas,  and  covered  with  strong 
netting.  Suspended  from  it  is  a  car,  in  which 
the  people  who  wish  to  take  a  ride  in  the  air 


THIRD     BOOK.  157 

can  take  a  seat.  When  they  are  seated,  tho 
strings  which  fasten  the  balloon  to  the  earth 
are  cut,  and  the  gas  in  the  balloon  being 
lighter  than  the  air,  it  rises  up,  up  far  above 
the  ground,  floating  like  a  huge  bird,  till  it 
goes  far  into  the  clouds,  quite  out  of  sight. 
In  the  picture  you  see  a  balloon,  which  is  al- 
ready in  the  air,  and  in  the  car  you  see  the 
four  men  who  are  having  a  ride. 

It  is  very  pleasant  to  sail  through  the  air 
in  this  way,  looking  down  upon  trees,  fields, 
cities,  mountains,  rivers,  and  plains  ;  but  like 
many  other  pleasant  things,  it  is  sometimes 
very  dangerous.  If  the  bag  breaks  and  lets 
gas  escape,  the  balloon  falls  instantly.  Some 
men  once  started  to  fly  over  Lake  Erie  in  a 
balloon;  when  they  were  a  short  distance 
from  land,  the  bag  burst,  the  gas  rushed  out, 
and  the  car  fell  down  into  the  water.  There 
were  people  on  the  shore  watching,  and  a  man 
was  sent  out  in  a  boat,  who  picked  up  the 


158  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

half-drowned  travellers.  Another  party,  fill- 
ing the  car  with  provisions,  started  from  Penn- 
sylvania to  cross  the  ocean  and  fly  over  to 
Europe;  but  when  the  balloon  got  as  far  as 
New  Jersey,  the  gas  began  to  escape,  and  the 
travellers  were  obliged  to  come  down,  very 
thankful  that  they  were  over  land  instead  of 
being  in  the  middle  of  the  ocean. 


A     STOBY     OF     CHRISTMAS. 

"  MOTHER  !  will  the  Christ-child  come  to- 
morrow ?  Will  the  Christ-child  bring  dolls, 
and  horses  ?  and  oh,  mother,  do  you  think  he 
will  bring  me  a  cross-bow,  and  will  Uncle 
Karl  teach  me  how  to  shoot  it  ?  Mother !  why 
are  you  so  sad  ?  why  do  your  eyes  look  far 
away,  instead  of  at  Karl  ?  Why  do  you  not 
answer  me,  mother  ? " 


THIED      BOOK.  159 

"  Karl ! "  said  the  mother,  drawing  him 
closely  to  her  breast,  "  do  you  love  me  ? " 

"  Love  you  ?  Why,  mother,  what  a  ques- 
tion !  I  love  you  most  dearly,  dear  mother." 

"  You  will  never  leave  me,  my  boy  ? " 

"  Never,  dear  mother !  Why  should  I  leave 
you?" 

"  Never,  never  leave  me." 

"  Gertrude,"  said  a  low  voice  behind  her 
chair. 

The  boy  slid  down  from  his  mother's  lap, 
and  left  her  alone  with  his  father. 

"  Oh,  my  husband,"  cried  the  wife,  laying 
her  head  on  his  breast,  "  my  heart  is  sad  to- 
night, and  over-weary.  Where  is  our  boy, 
our  first-born  ? " 

"  Gertrude,  he  left  us  freely ;  he  was  head- 
strong, and  unwilling  to  submit  to  his  father's 
better  judgment.  God  protect  him,  for  he  was 
young  and  wayward.  I  know  not  where  he 
is,  though  half  my  fortune  has  been  spent  in 


160  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

vain  endeavors  to  find  him.  Our  poor  boy ! 
he  may  be  dead,  Gertrude." 

The  mother  shuddered.  Then  rising,  she 
went  to  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  cross-bow, 
and  some  other  boyish  toys,  and  laid  them 
apart.  Her  hand  lingered  lovingly  over  them, 
and  the  tears  welled  up  into  her  eyes. 

"  They  are  for  Karl,"  she  said  in  answer  to 
her  husband's  look  of  inquiry.  "  It  is  five  years 
to-morrow  since  I  placed  them  on  the  tree  for 
Emanuel,  and  in  two  little  weeks  I  saw  my 
boy  for  the  last  time.  I  have  tried  always  to 
banish  sad  thoughts  at  Christmas,  for  the 
children's  sake,  but  to-night  my  heart  seems 
full  enough  to  burst.  God  grant  we  hear  of 
no  misfortune  happening  to  our  boy,  for  my 
heart  has  heavy  forebodings." 

Long  did  the  parents  sit  and  talk  of  the 
prodigal  son. 

Emanuel  was  their  first,  and  for  five  years 
after  their  marriage,  their  only  child.  He  was 


THIRD      BOOK.  161 

a  high-tempered  boy,  but  until  his  thirteenth 
year  had  submitted  to  his  parents'  will.  One 
night,  in  a  sudden  fit  of  rage  at  the  crossing 
of  some  unreasonable  whim,  he  had  left  the 
house,  walked  to  a  neighboring  seaport  town, 
and  there  taken  passage  on  a  vessel  bound  for 
China.  As  this  vessel  sailed  the  next  morn- 
ing, with  its  new  cabin-boy  on  board,  every 
effort  made  by  his  father  to  bring  him  back  had 
been  fruitless.  For  some  time  the  mother  was 
prostrated  by  grief,  but  other  children  claimed 
her  attention,  and  as  their  childish  wonder 
abated,  and  they  ceased  to  mention  their 
brother's  name,  it  was  not  spoken  in  the  fam- 
ily circle,  and  the  parents  slowly  learned  to 
shut  up  this  great  sorrow  in  their  own  hearts. 
The  morrow  came,  and  with  a  sad  face  and 
many  a  falling  tear,  Gertrude  placed  Emanuel's 
toys  on  the  tree  for  Karl.  If  he  ever  returned, 
the  mother  lovingly  argued,  he  would  be  too 
old  for  these  trifling  gifts,  and  they  would 
11 


162  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

make  her  Karl  happy.  Dancing  feet  and  merry 
voices  greeting  her,  as  she  left  the  mysterious 
room  she  had  prepared  for  the  Christ-child, 
soothed  the  open  wound  in  her  heart,  and  she 
thanked  God  for  the  treasures  left  to  her. 

Evening  came;  the  children,  Karl,  Fritz, 
Gertie,  Franz,  and  little  Dorothea  were  all 
ushered  into  a  dark  entry,  and  there  joined 
their  sweet  childish  voices  in  the  Christmas- 
hymn.  Then  the  door  opened,  and  in  a  won- 
drous blaze  of  light  stood  the  Christmas  tree. 
Awe-stricken  by  its  glorious  light,  and  dazzled 
by  its  suddenness,  the  children  stood  still, 
until  seeing  grandmother,  whose  chair  had 
been  wheeled  in,  sitting  by  a  table  near  this 
burst  of  splendor,  they  came  slowly  in.  Karl's 
quick  eye  soon  espied  his  treasure,  the  cross- 
bow, and  Uncle  Karl  was  called  upon  to  ex- 
plain all  its  mysteries.  Fritz  took  his  new 
book  to  have  the  pictures  explained  by  grand- 
mother. Gertie  sat  beside  the  table  with  a 


THIRD     BOOK.  163 

new  doll,  wliile  little  Franz  and  the  two  year 
old  baby,  soon  tired  with  intense  pleasure, 
came  to  papa's  loving  arms  for  rest.  The 
mother  wandered  round  the  room.  Karl's 
eagerness  reminded  her  of  the  pleasure  the 
same  toy  had  given  five  long  years  before. 
The  book  Fritz  enjoyed  so  much  was  also  one 
of  Emanuel's,  and  as  Gertrude's  eye  turned 
from  one  boy  to  the  other,  her  heart  whispered 
the  oft-repeated  question,  "  Will  he  never  re- 
turn ! "  There  was  a  shadow  on  the  father's 
brow  too,  and  as  Gertrude  passed  him,  he 
grasped  her  hand,  and  drew  her  closely  to  him. 
All  the  children  were  too  happy  to  notice 
their  parents'  abstraction,  and  their  low  voices 
were  drowned  in  gleeful  shouts  and  animated 
conversation. 

Sxiddenly  there  came  a  loud  rap  on  the 
door.  Gertie,  much  wondering  whom  it  could 
be  on  Christmas  eve,  sprang  to  open  it.  The 
mother  stood  erect,  and  the  father,  his  heart 


164  UNCLE  JOHN'S 

stirred  by  the  same  hope,  looked  eagerly 
toward  the  door.  It  was  a  stranger,  a  lad  of 
eighteen  or  nineteen  years ;  they  looked  for  a 
boy  of  Karl's  age,  forgetting  for  a  moment  the 
lapse  of  time.  He  stood  in  the  doorway, 
then  with  a  slow,  timid  step,  advanced  toward 
the  mother  and  father.  Gertrude's,  the  mother's 
instinct,  spoke  first,  and  with  a  loud  cry  she 
fell  upon  his  neck. 

"  Mother !  mother ! "  he  said,  in  a  hoarse, 
choked  voice,  "  can  you  forgive  me  ? " 

"  Forgive  ?  Oh,  my  boy !  Heaven  is  very 
good  to  me.  Five  years  I  have  thirsted  for 
the  sound  of  your  voice,  and  the  sight  of  your 
face,  and  God  has  sent  you  home." 

"Father!" 

The  father  spoke  not,  but  as  his  son  fell  at 
his  feet,  he  bent  forward  and  pressed  the  seal 
of  forgiveness  upon  his  brow.  And  the  Christ- 
mas day  rose  upon  such  happiness  in  that 
house  as  it  had  never  known  before. 


THIRD     BOOK.  165 


WISHING. 

A  NURSERY   SONG. 


Ring-ling !  I  wish  I  were  a  Primrose, 
A  bright  yellow  primrose  "blooming  in  the 
Spring ! 

The  stooping  boughs  above  me, 

The  wandering  bee  to  love  me, 
The  fern  and  moss  to  creep  across, 
And  the  Elm-tree  for  our  king ! 

Nay,  stay !  I  wish  I  were  an  Elm-tree, 

A  great  lofty-Elm-tree,  with  green  leaves  gay ! 
The  winds  would  set  them  dancing, 
The  sun  and  moonshine  glance  in, 

And  birds  would  house  among  the  boughs, 

And  sweetly  sing ! 

O  no  !  I  wish  I  were  a  Robin ; 

A  Robin  or  a  little  Wren,  everywhere  to  go ! 

Through  forest,  field,  or  garden, 

And  ask  no  leave  or  pardon, 


166  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

Till  winter  come  with  icy  thumb, 
To  ruffle  up  our  wing ! 

Well,  tell !  where  should  I  %  to, 

Where  go  to  sleep  in  the  dark  wood  or  dell ! 

Before  a  day  was  over, 

Home  must  come  the  rover, 
For  mother's  Mss — sweeter  this 
Than  any  other  thing. 


THIRD  BOOK. 


167 


THE  APTEEYX. 


TRAVELLERS  who  have  ventured  into  the 
wild,  unknown  parts  of  Australia,  have  seen 
many  new  animals,  all  of  which  have  been 
quite  unlike  those  of  other  countries.  Amongst 
those  which  have  really  been  brought  to  this 
country,  the  most  curious  is  the  Apteryx, 
called  by  the  natives  Kiwi-Kiwi.  It  is  quite 
without  wings,  and  the  nostrils  are  placed 
nearly  at  the  end  of  the  very  long  bill,  the  tip 
of  which  it  has  a  habit  of  placing  on  the 


168  UNCLE 

ground  when  it  rests.  The  bird  is  covered 
with  soft,  hair-like  feathers,  which  are  never 
plucked  out,  but  the  whole  skin  is  used  for 
the  dresses  of  the  chiefs.  The  legs  are  very 
strong  and  powerful,  and  are  used  to  defend 
it  from  the  dogs  that  hunt  it ;  and  also  to 
strike  the  ground,  to  force  up  the  worms  on 
which  it  feeds.  It  makes  its  nest  in  caves  in 
the  rock,  or  it  digs  holes  in  the  earth,  in  which 
it  hides  when  pursued. 


MARY     THOMPSON. 

"  PKAY  let  that  tree  alone,"  said  a  lady, 
addressing  a  little  girl  about  eleven  years  old, 
who  was  picking  off  the  bark  of  a  fine  elm, 
that  grew  near  the  entrance  of  a  gentleman's 
grounds.  "Do  you  not  know  that  what 
you  are  doing  is  very  injurious  to  the  tree  ? 
See,"  added  she,  turning  to  the  lady  who  was 


THIRD     BOOK.  169 

with  her,  "what  a  large  space  has  been  en- 
tirely laid  bare." 

"I  didn't  do  it,"  said  the  girl  pertly;  "it 
was  there  long  before  I  ever  touched  the 
tree." 

"Probably,"  replied  Miss  Sinclair;  "but 
that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  make  it 
worse.  Leave  the  tree,"  said  she  authorita- 
tively, for  the  girl  still  held  her  hand  upon  it, 
nor  had  moved  a  single  step. 

"It's  none  of  yours,"  exclaimed  she,  in  a 
tone  sufficiently  loud  for  Miss  Sinclair  to  hear, 
though  apparently  pronounced  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  her  companions,  who  began  to 
titter. 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ? "  demanded  Miss 
Sinclair,  turning  back  a  few  paces. 

"  I  didn't  say  any  thing,"  replied  she. 

"What  is  your  name?"  demanded  Miss 
Sinclair:  but  no  answer  was  returned.  She 
then  made  the  same  inquiry  of  the  other  girls 


170  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

who  were  with  her,  one  alone  of  whom  made 
any  reply,  and  that  was  no  further  satisfactory 
than  that  she  gained  from  it  that  her  name 
was  Mary ;  whether  she  went  to  the  school, 
where  she  lived,  or  what  was  her  surname, 
were  points  her  informant  professed  to  know 
nothing  about. 

"  It  is  as  well  for  your  friends,"  said  Miss 
Sinclair,  "  that  your  name  is  not  known ;  for 
impertinent  children  are  not  less  a  disgrace 
to  their  parents  than  objects  of  dislike  to 
others.  We  may  meet  again,  perhaps,  when 
I  shall  not  forget  either  your  countenance 
or  your  words ;  for  an  insolent  tongue,  and 
a  disrespectful  manner,  seldom  fail  either  to 
make  an  impression  not  easily  to  be  effaced, 
or  to  receive  some  degree  of  punishment." 

The  girl  spoke  not,  but  her  looks  suffi- 
ciently expressed  her  inclination  again  to  an- 
swer. Miss  Sinclair,  however,  walked  on,  and 
soon  each  was  out  of  sight  of  the  other. 


THIRD     BOOK. 


Mary  —  for  as  such  alone  we  will  for  the 
present  know  her  —  was,  without  any  excep- 
tion, the  pertest  girl  in  the  village.  Let  who 
would  speak,  she  had  always  an  answer  to 
make,  and  would  have  the  last  word,  though 
numbers  were  present.  Her  manner,  her  ap- 
pearance, the  cast  of  her  countenance,  every 
feature,  the  movement  of  her  shoulders,  and 
the  twist  of  her  neck,  and  —  if  the  expression 
may  be  allowed  —  the  very  sit  of  her  clothes, 
and  her  way  of  putting  on  her  bonnet,  was 
pert.  If  her  mother  happened  to  say,  "  I  like 
such  and  such  a  thing  to  be  done  thus;  I 
think  it  the  better  plan  ;  "  Mary's  head  was  at 
once  in  motion,  her  lip  was  raised,  and  "  Do 
you  ?  "  was  the  reply  ;  and  sometimes  even  she 
would  add,  "but  I  don't."  There  was  no 
mistaking  the  meaning  of  the  action  at  any 
time  ;  and  so  her  father  proved  to  her  one 
evening,  when  hearing  the  words,  and  catch- 
ing the  expression  that  accompanied  them,  he 


UNCLE   JOHNS 


raised  the  glove  lie  had  in  his  hand,  and 
smartly  struck  her  on  the  shoulder  with  it. 

"  Is  that  the  way,"  said  he,  angrily,  "  that 
you  answer  your  mother  ?  If  ever  I  hear  you 
speak  in  that  manner  again  you  shall  have 
something  still  more  to  cry  for  than  you  have 
now."  The  blow  had  been  sharp,  and  the 
pain  caused  by  it  severe,  and  Mary's  tears 
flowed  plentifully  ;  yet  even  in  that  moment, 
so  powerful  was  the  force  of  habit,  that  she 
was  on  the  point  of  uttering  some  reply  —  the 
determined  look  of  her  father,  and  the  glance 
she  caught  of  his  uplifted  glove,  checked  her, 
and  made  her  thankful  to  escape. 

She  was  the  same  at  school.  Mrs.  Davis, 
the  mistress,  had  more  trouble  with  her  on 
this  account,  than  she  had  ever  experienced 
from  any  girl  before,  and  as  yet  she  had  found 
no  means  of  effectually  correcting  her.  This 
was  the  more  to  be  regretted,  as  she  was 
really  a  very  "  handy  "  little  girl,  by  no  means 


THIRD     BOOK.  173 

inclined  to  be  idle,  and  possessed,  besides, 
very  good  sense. 

With  her  brothers  she  was  no  favorite. 
"  Miss  Pert "  was  the  name  by  which  they 
generally  distinguished  her ;  and,  while  quar- 
rels were  frequent  between  them  and  herself, 
they  rarely  invited  her  to  share  in  any  pleasure 
that  they  proposed  among  themselves. 

"  Mother,"  said  Frank,  the  eldest  boy,  "  I 
will  take  my  angle,  and  see  if  I  can't  catch  a 
dish  of  fish  for  supper ;  it  is  just  such  an  even- 
ing when  the  fish  will  bite,  as  fast  as  I  can 
throw  the  bait." 

"Will  they?"  said  Mary;  "I'm  glad  you 
think  so." 

"  No  one  spoke  to  you,  Miss  Pert,"  re- 
turned Frank,  coloring  with  passion ;  "  when 
I  want  a  girl's  opinion,  I'll  ask  you  for  it." 

One  word  of  course  led  to  another,  and 
angry  words  and  burning  hearts  were  the  con- 
sequence. 


UNCLE     JO  HNS 


"  O  mother  !  "  cried  Mary  one  day  when 
she  returned  from  school,  "  what  do  you  think 
Mrs.  Davis  has  been  telling  us  ?  The  lady 
who  has  come  to  live  at  the  Grove  keeps  a 
great  many  pretty  birds,  birds  of  all  sorts, 
and  she  wants  a  little  girl  to  help  her  to  feed 
them,  and  attend  to  them.  She  is  not  to  live 
there  entirely,  but  to  go  at  certain  times  of 
the  day,  so  that  it  may  not  interfere  with 
school-hours  :  they  say  she  is  such  a  nice  lady  ; 
and  every  thing  about  her  is  quite  beautiful. 
O  mother,  I  should  so  like  to  go  to  her  ! 
Don't  you  think  Mrs.  Davis  might  have  spoken 
a  good  word  for  me  ?  " 

"  Could  she  have  spoken  a  good  word  for 
you,  Mary  3  "  said  her  mother,  looking  steadily 
at  her. 

"  Could  she  !  "  repeated  Mary,  and  the  tell- 
tale toss  of  her  head,  and  jerk  of  the  neck, 
betrayed  that  Mrs.  Davis's  last  exhortations 


THIRD      BOOK.  175 

and  her  own  promises  of  amendment  were 
forgotten. 

"  Mary  ! "  said  her  mother,  in  a  tone  which 
recalled  her  to  recollection. 

She  blushed,  and  in  a  more  becoming  man- 
ner said,  "  Will  you  go  with  me,  mother,  and 
ask  the  lady  to  take  me  ? " 

Her  mother  consented  ;  and  it  was  agreed 
that  they  should  go  together  in  the  evening. 
Seeing  both  dressed  in  their  Sunday  attire, 
the  brothers  inquired  where  they  were  going. 
Mary,  with  some  importance,  informed  them. 

"  Well,  take  care,"  said  one  of  them,  "  only 
mind  that  you  leave  '  Miss  Pert '  behind  you, 
and  then  perhaps  you  may  stand  a  chance  to 
be  nursery-maid  to  the  birds." 

"  Nursery-maid  indeed ! "  returned  Mary ; 
"  who  cares  for  such  boys  as  you  ?  "  and  her 
little  slight  figure  became  in  an  instant  per- 
fectly erect  and  statue-like,  with  the  exception 


176  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

of  the  head  and  neck,  which  assumed  its  accus- 
tomed movement  on  such  occasions. 

"  If  there  is  another  word  spoken,"  said  her 
mother,  "  you  may  go  by  yourself,  for  I  will 
not  go  with  you." 

"As  you  please,"  were  the  words  that 
hung  on  Mary's  tongue,  but  she  checked  the 
utterance,  and  in  silence  they  left  the  house 
together. 

When  they  reached  the  Grove  they  were 
shown  into  an  apartment  and  desired  to  wait ; 
the  door  which  led  into  an  adjoining  room 
was  open,  so  that  the  voices  within  were  dis- 
tinctly heard.  Mary  immediately  recognized 
Mrs.  Davis  to  be  the  speaker.  "  There  is  no 
one,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  whom  I  could  so  con- 
fidently recommend  as  Mary  Thompson,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  fault  that  I  have  mentioned. 
I  am  sure  she  would  suit  you  in  every  respect ; 
whatever  she  does  she  does  well,  and  quickly 


THIKD     BOOK.  177 

too ;  but  she  lias  such,  a  tongue  !     I  cannot 
advise  you  to  take  her." 

At  that  instant  the  lady  to  whom  she  was 
speaking,  perceiving  the  figures  of  persons  in 
the  antechamber,  arose  and  advanced  towards 
it.  Addressing  Mary's  mother  as  she  entered^ 
she  inquired  her  business.  Mary  stole  a  look 
at  her,  but  meeting  her  eyes,  she  hastily  turned 
her  head  away.  Had  she  seen  her  before  ? 
She  could  hardly  tell :  her  voice  certainly  did 
not  seem  strange  to  her,  yet  she  could  not 
think  when  or  where  she  had  heard  it.  Whilst 
her  mother  was  enumerating  her  daughter's 
qualifications,  and  in  natural  terms  commend- 
ing her,  Mary  was  amusing  herself  with  look- 
ing at  some  beautiful  flowers,  which  were 
tastefully  arranged  in  a  vase  on  a  small  table, 
near  which  she  was  standing.  Fearful  that 
she  might  be  taking  a  liberty,  her  mother, 
availing  herself  of  an  opportunity,  as  she 
thought,  of  not  being  observed,  shook  her 
12 


ITS 

head,  and  by  the  motion  of  her  lips,  rather 
than  by  direct  utterance,  said  "  Don't  do  so." 
But  this  was  enough  for  Mary.  "  Not  to  do 
so ! "  she  repeated,  accompanying  the  words 
with  the  movement  of  her  head  so  peculiarly 
her  own. 

"  Mary  Thompson ! "  said  the  lady,  in  a 
voice  which  made  her  start,  "  I  require  no  one 
to  tell  me  that  you  are  she.  Those  flowers 
are  none  of  yours — do  you  now  recollect 
me?" 

Mary  was  almost  ready  to  sink  on  the  car- 
pet ;  she  had  never  before  been  so  completely 
subdued. 

"  Miss  Pert "  was,  indeed,  left  behind.  She 
colored,  trembled,  and  at  last  burst  into  tears. 
Her  mother  looked  at  her  with  astonishment. 
Miss  Sinclair  then  related  what  had  occurred 
at  their  first  meeting,  to  the  great  distress  of 
the  poor  woman. 

"Mary,"   said  Miss  Sinclair,  as  she  con- 


THIKD     BOOK.  19 

eluded  lier  narration,  "  you  may  now  see  both 
the  folly  and  the  danger  of  impertinence. 
The  conduct  shown  to  a  stranger  might,  with- 
out any  other  knowledge,  now  deprive  you 
of  a  very  great  advantage.  Our  second  meet- 
ing, like  our  first,  is  by  no  means  calculated 
to  give  me  a  favorable  impression  of  you ; 
but  there  is  no  habit  altogether  so  inveterate 
as  not  to  be  conquered  by  perseverance  and 
determination,  and  I  would  much  rather  be 
the  means  of  your  improvement  than  of  your 
punishment.  You  shall  come  to  me,  but  on 
this  clear  understanding — that  if  you  repeat 
the  fault  I  have  thus  twice  witnessed,  you 
leave  me  in  disgrace,  and  without  any  prospect 
of  returning  to  me." 

Mary  went  home  humbled  and  mortified ; 
but  if  her  brothers  are  to  be  believed,  "  Miss 
Pert"  expired  that  evening,  and  though  for 
some  time  after  they  had  fears  of  her  coming 
to  life  again,  she  has  certainly  up  to  this  hour 


180  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

been  to  all  intents  and  purposes  dead  and 
buried. 


HOW     BOOKS     AKE     MADE. 


A    PRINTING    PRESS. 


WHEN  your  dear  papa,  little  reader,  brings 
you  home  the  pretty  book  that  is  to  give  you 
many  pleasant  hours,  do  you  ever  think  of 
the  number  of  people  who  have  been  em- 
ployed to  give  you  this  pleasure.  I  don't 


THIED     BOOK.  181 

think  you  ever  stopped  a  moment  to  thank 
them ;  so  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something 
about  the  manufacture  of  books,  that  you 
may  understand  what  a  large  amount  of  work 
it  requires  to  make  even  the  smallest  book. 

First,  then,  there  is  the  author,  or  person 
who  writes  the  words  for  you  to  read.  He 
must  sit  many  hours  and  days,  busy  with  his 
pen,  to  tell  you  of  other  countries,  or  of  birds 
and  beasts,  or  to  write  out  the  pretty  stories. 
The  designer,  too,  or  man  who  draws  the  pic- 
tures which  you  like  so  well,  must  ply  his 
pencil,  and  use  his  eyes  and  fingers  busily, 
before  the  pretty  scenes  are  ready  for  you. 

The  engraver  must  then  take  his  sharp 
little  tools,  and  dig  into  the  hard  wood  or 
steel  on  which  the  picture  is  drawn,  until  he 
has  it  ready  for  the  paper  upon  which  you  see 
its  impression. 

Then  comes  the  printer,  to  set  the  type, 
and  stamp  upon  the  page  the  words  you  read. 


182  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

In  the  picture  you  see  the  press  which  he 
uses  for  this  purpose.  All  the  letters  are  cut 
in  little  steel  type,  then  put  together  to  form 
the  words  and  sentences,  and  fastened  very 
securely  in  frames  made  for  that  purpose. 
These  frames  are  then  put  in  the  printing 
press,  where  the  letters  are  carefully  inked. 
The  paper  is  then  laid  over  them,  and  pressed 
down  with  great  force,  so  that  the  ink  will 
come  off  upon  it,  and  leave  the  little  black 
letters. 

Then  the  leaves  must  be  taken  by  the 
stitcher  and  sewed  together  to  form  the  book ; 
the  binder  takes  them  next,  and  puts  on  the 
pretty  stiff  covers  which  keep  the  pages  neat 
and  clean,  and  finally  the  packer  sends  them 
to  the  bookstore  where  papa  finds  them  out 
for  you. 

But  even  before  the  book  is  printed,  there 
are  many  hours  of  labor  spent  upon  the 
materials.  The  paper  employs  the  ragpicker 


THIED     BOOK.  183 

and  manufacturer ;  the  covers  require  the  aid 
of  the  leather  or  cloth  maker,  and  gilder; 
and  the  ink  must  be  made,  the  press  itself 
manufactured,  and  many  hands  employed  be- 
fore one  book  is  ready  for  you  to  read.  So 
when  you  look  at  a  book,  you  should  bear  in 
mind  the  number  of  persons  that  have  been 
employed  in  producing  it ;  and  then,  perhaps, 
it  will  rise  in  your  estimation.  There  are  the 
author,  the  designer,  the  publisher,  the  rag 
merchant,  the  paper  maker,  the  stationer,  the 
type  founder,  the  press  maker,  the  ink  maker, 
the  chase  maker,  the  compositor,  the  press- 
man, the  gatherer,  the  folder,  the  stitcher,  the 
the  leather  seller,  the  binder,  the  copper  smith, 
the  engraver,  the  copper  plate  printer,  the 
bookseller,  and  many  other  trades  besides. 
All  of  these  require,  also,  the  assistance  of 
persons  of  other  employment,  so  that  no  fewer 
than  a  hundred  people,  directly  or  indirectly, 
have  been  occupied  in  the  production  of  every 


184 

bound  book  which  is  decorated  with  copper 
plates  or  wood  cuts. 


HOW     HAEEY     DIXON     BEGAN     TO 
THINK. 

THE  family  dinner  was  just  over — Mr. 
Dixon  had  gone  to  his  workshop — some  of 
the  children  had  run  out  to  play  before  going 
to  school ;  but  Harry  had  taken  his  chair  near 
to  the  fire,  where  he  sat  watching  his  mother 
as  she  cleared  the  table. 

Harry  was  about  ten  years  old ;  a  good- 
tempered  boy,  and  a  handy  little  fellow  in  his 
way ;  but  like  many  other  boys,  he  did  things 
without  thinking,  and  so  brought  himself  into 
trouble.  His  father  often  said  that  the  young 
chap  had  no  head,  and  was  of  no  use  to  any- 
body. 

When  Harry  heard  his  father  say  this  he 


THIRD    BOOK.  185 

always  felt  unhappy,  and  wished  he  could  be- 
come a  useful  boy  all  at  once,  and  so  make  up 
for  past  troubles.  His  good  disposition  made 
him  willing  to  render  such  services  as  were  in 
his  power ;  but  he  did  not  know  how  much 
power  of  this  sort  he  had,  as  he  ran  about 
playing  with  his  brothers  and  sisters ;  and  in 
the  fun  and  frolic  a  mishap  of  some  kind  was 
pretty  sure  to  happen. 

Harry,  as  we  have  said,  was  sitting  by  the 
fire ;  he  had  alone  no  mischief  that  day,  and 
felt  pretty  comfortable  as  he  watched  his 
mother's  proceedings.  She  had  nearly  done 
clearing  away,  when  he  saw  her  take  up  the 
bread-basket  and  water-jug  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  a  saucepan  from  the  hob, 
and  carry  all  three  at  once  away  to  the 
pantry. 

"  How  clever  my  mother  is,"  said  Harry 
to  himself,  "  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
making  one  journey  do  for  three  things." 


186  UNCLE 

Then  lie  sat  silent  for  a  time,  wondering 
whether  he  would  one  day  be  able  to  do  the 
same.  He  had  often  heard  his  mother  say, 
"  make  your  head  work  for  your  hands,"  and 
now  he  understood  what  she  meant. 

Those  few  minutes  of  reflection  formed 
one  of  the  turning  points  in  Harry's  history, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  began  to 
think. 

After  this,  it  seemed  to  Harry  that  diffi- 
culties were  not  so  formidable  as  heretofore ; 
and  he  scarcely  ever  woke  in  the  morning 
without  thinking  about  what  he  should  do 
through  the  day.  In  this  way  he  found  out 
that  it  was  possible  for  even  a  young  boy  to 
be  very  useful  at  home.  One  of  the  first 
things  that  he  did  was  to  collect  all  the  large 
stones  he  could  find,  and  with  these  he  made 
a  pathway  across  the  yard  to  the  ash-pen  and 
water-butt;  and  this  saved  the  kitchen  from  a 
good  deal  of  dirt,  especially  in  wet  weather. 


THIED     BOOK.  187 

He  pulled  up  all  the  weeds  and  grass  from 
the  garden  paths,  and  made  a  rule  of  sweep- 
ing them  every  other  day ;  besides  which  he 
mended  the  fence,  and  put  a  new  hasp  to  the 
gate.  He  found  time,  too,  to  keep  the  books 
in  tidy  order  on  the  shelves ;  and,  setting  his 
wits  to  work,  he  contrived  to  put  a  new  leg 
to  the  washing-stool,  and  to  mend  the  broken 
rails  of  the  kitchen  chairs.  In  short,  Harry 
found  that  when  people  are  willing  to  be  use- 
ful they  can  do  almost  any  thing,  and  he  would 
never  have  believed,  had  he  not  proved  it, 
that  so  much  could  be  done  in  a  day.  He  did 
not  give  up  play,  but  by  making  his  head 
work,  he  gained  time  for  work  as  well  as  play. 
He  had  not  only  the  satisfaction  arising  from 
a  true  desire  to  do  his  duty,  but  he  gained  the 
approbation  of  his  parents :  his  mother  often 
looked  after  him  as  he  ran  off  to  school,  with 
a  glad  eye  and  thankful  heart,  that  her  young 
son  was  such  a  comfort  to  her. 


188  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

[Our  youthful  readers  must  not  suppose 
that  this  is  a  tale  merely  made  up  for  the 
occasion ;  it  is  a  true  history.  Harry  is  now 
an  old  man,  yet  he  can  still  look  back  with 
satisfaction  to  the  time  when  he  began  to 
think] 


THIRD     BOOK.  189 


AN    AQUARIUM. 


Is  not  this  a  pretty  aquarium  ?  An  aqua- 
rium is  a  glass  vessel,  or  tank  filled  with 
water,  sea  weed,  pebbles,  shells,  and  fishes. 
They  are  sometimes  very  large,  sometimes 
small  enough  to  stand  on  a  little  table.  When 
well  filled  and  the  water  kept  clear,  they  are 
very  beautiful ;  and  it  is  a  very  pleasant  way 


190 

of  passing  an  hour  or  two,  to  watch  the  little 
fish  as  they  dart  in  an  out  among  the  weeds. 
My  brother  once  had  an  aquarium  of  which 
he  was  very  proud ;  he  had  carefully  washed 
the  pretty  white  sand,  and  spread  it  over  the 
bottom  of  his  tank ;  had  spent  many  days  in 
hunting  for  the  weeds  and  pebbles,  and  beg- 
ged from  his  mother  some  beautiful  shells. 
All  the  fish  were  caught  by  his  own  net,  on 
holidays,  and  his  pretty  treasure  was  his 
favorite  amusement.  One  day  while  he  was 
at  school,  his  little  sister,  who  was  just  learn- 
ing to  count,  thought  she  would  like  to  know 
how  many  fish  there  were  in  Charley's  aqua- 
rium. So  she  took  the  little  net  with  which 
Charley  removed  the  fish  to  a  bucket  of  water 
when  he  cleaned  the  tank,  and  carefully  lifted 
out  all  the  fish.  But  Lizzie  did  not  know 
that  fish  will  not  live  out  of  water,  and  she 
spread  them  all  out  on  the  carpet.  At  first 
they  struggled  and  gasped,  then  lay  quite 


THIRD    BOOK.  191 

still.  As  Lizzie  could  not  count  as  far  as  five, 
she  divided  the  fish  into  little  heaps,  five  in 
each  heap,  and  then  went  to  Charley  to  know 
how  many  five  heaps  of  five  fishes  each,  made. 
Can  you  tell  ? 

Poor  Charley !  As  soon  as  Lizzie  told  him 
what  she  had  done,  he  ran  hastily  into  the 
room,  to  see  all  his  little  pets  lying  dead  on 
the  carpet. 

"  Oh,  Lizzie !    You've  killed  all  my  fish  !  " 

Lizzie  stood  a  moment  very  still,  looking 
at  the  mischief  she  had  done,  and  then  began 
to  cry  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  Charley !  Are  they  dead  3  The  poor 
little  fish !  Oh,  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  them. 
I  lifted  them  out  very  carefully." 

"  But  they  will  not  live  out  of  the  water." 

"  But,  Charley,  they  would  not  keep  still 
while  I  counted  them !  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry ! " 

Now   Charley  was  a  kind-hearted  little 


192  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

boy,  and  when  lie  saw  how  grieved  and  sorry 
his  little  sister  was,  he  began  to  comfort  her. 

"Never  mind,  Lizzie,  there  are  plenty 
more  fish  in  the  river.  I  will  catch  some 
more  on  Saturday,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
touch  them." 

Lizzie  promised  never  to  touch  the  tank 
again,  and  kept  her  promise. 

Now  was  not  this  much  better  than  if 
Charley  had  been  passionate,  and  scolded  his 
little  sister  ?  Lizzie  learned  to  be  more  care- 
ful about  touching  what  did  not  belong  to 
her,  and  loved  her  gentle  brother  more  dearly 
than  ever. 


THAT     IS     A     BOY     I    CAN    TETJST. 

"  I  OXCE  visited,"  says  a  gentleman,  "  a 
large  public  school.  At  recess  a  little  fellow 
came  up  and  spoke  to  the  master;  and  as  he 


THIED     BOOK.  193 

turned  to  go  down  the  platform,  the  master 
said,  '  That  is  a  boy  I  can  trust.  He  never 
failed  me.'  I  followed  him  with  my  eye,  and 
looked  at  him  when  he  took  his  seat  after  re- 
cess. He  had  a  fine,  open,  manly  face.  I 
thought  a  good  deal  about  the  master's  re- 
mark. What  a  character  had  that  little  boy 
earned !  He  had  already  got  what  would  be 
worth  to  him  more  than  a  fortune.  It  would 
be  a  passport  to  the  best  office  in  the  city,  and 
what  is  better,  to  the  confidence  of  all.  I 
wonder  if  the  boys  know  how  soon  they  are 
rated  by  older  people.  Every  boy  in  the 
neighborhood  is  known,  and  opinions  formed 
of  him ;  he  has  a  character,  either  favorable  or 
unfavorable.  A  boy  of  whom  the  master  can 
say,  '  I  can  trust  him ;  he  never  failed  me,' 
will  never  want  employment.  The  fidelity  ? 
promptness,  and  industry  which  he  has  shown 
at  school  are  prized  everywhere.  He  who  is 
faithless  in  little  shall  be  faithless  in  much." 

13 


194  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

THE   BAD    CLOCK. 

I  HAVE  a  clock  on  my  parlor  mantelpiece. 
A  very  pretty  little  clock  it  is,  with  a  gilt 
frame,  and  a  glass  case  to  cover  it.  Almost 
every  one  who  sees  it,  says,  "  What  a  pretty 
clock ! "  But  it  has  one  great  defect — it  will 
not  run ;  and  therefore,  as  a  dock,  it  is  per- 
fectly useless.  Though  it  is  very  pretty,  it  is 
a  bad  clock,  because  it  never  tells  what  time 
it  is. 

Now,  my  bad  clock  is  like  a  great  many 
persons  in  the  world.  Just  as  my  clock  does 
not  answer  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  made 
— that  is,  to  keep  time — so,  many  persons  do 
not  answer  the  purpose  for  which  they  were 
made.  What  did  God  make  us  for  ?  "  Why," 
you  will  say,  "He  made  us  that  we  might 
love  Him  and  serve  Him."  Well,  then,  if  we 
do  iwt  love  God  and  serve  Him,  we  do  not 
answer  the  purpose  for  which  He  made  us : 


THIED     BOOK.  195 

we  may  be,  like  the  clock,  very  pretty,  and  "be 
very  kind,  and  very  obliging ;  but  if  we  do 
not  answer  the  purpose  for  which  God  made 
us,  we  are  just  like  the  clock — bad.  Those 
of  my  readers  who  live  in  the  country,  and 
have  seen  an  apple-tree  in  full  blossom,  know 
what  a  beautiful  sight  it  is.  But  suppose  it 
only  bore  blossoms,  and  did  not  produce  fruit, 
you  would  say  it  is  a  bad  apple-tree.  And  so 
it  is.  Every  thing  is  bad,  and  every  person  is 
bad,  and  every  boy  and  girl  is  bad,  if  tliey  do 
not  answer  the  purpose  for  which  God  made 
them.  God  did  not  make  us  only  to  play  and 
amuse  ourselves,  but  also  that  we  might  do 
His  will. 

Maybe  some  of  our  readers  will  say,  How 
can  I  do  God's  will  ?  I  will  tell  you.  It  is 
God's  will  that  you  obey  your  parents.  It  is 
His  will  that  you  keep  out  of  bad  company. 
It  is  His  will  that  you  always  try  to  do  what 
is  right.  It  is  His  will  that  you  pray  and 


196  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

read  your  bible.  And  it  is  God's  mil,  my 
dear  young  friends,  that  you  believe  in  Jesus 
Christ,  trust  in  Him  for  the  pardon  of  your 
sins,  and  pray  for  His  Holy  Spirit.  Now  be 
sure  that  you  try  to  be  not  like  the  clock, 
which,  though  it  is  very  pretty,  is  a  bad  one, 
because  it  does  not  answer  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  made.  Let  every  one,  therefore, 
ask  himself  the  question,  "  Do  I  answer  the 
purpose  for  which  God  made  me  ? " 


THIKD  BOOK. 


197 


THE  GREAT  AUK. 

THE  Great  Auk  feeds  on  fish ;  it  is  found 
on  all  the  shores  of  the  Northern  Ocean,  and 
is  sometimes  seen  in  the  Northern  Islands  of 
Scotland.  Its  short  wings  are  of  no  use  in 
flying,  and  its  legs  are  so  far  back  that  it 
walks  very  slowly;  but  it  dives  well,  and 
swims  under  the  water,  rising  at  a  great  dis- 


198  UNCLE  JOHN'S 

tance  from  the  place  where  it  went  down. 
The  sailors  know  they  are  near  land  when 
they  see  the  Great  Auk,  which  never  ventures 
far  from  the  shore.  The  plumage  of  the  head, 
neck,  and  back  is  black,  and  the  under  parts 
are  white,  with  a  white  patch  before  the  eyes. 
On  the  cleft  of  a  high  rock  this  bird  lays  one 
large  white  egg  streaked  with  purple;  and 
these  eggs  are  so  rare  that  they  are  much 
valued  by  collectors. 


ANDKOCLES     AND     THE     LION. 

I  BEAD  once  a  story  that  I  think  will 
please  you.  It  was  called  Androcles  and 
the  Lion.  In  those  days,  when  rich  people 
were  served  by  slaves,  whom  they  could  sell 
or  torture  as  they  pleased,  there  was  a  man 
named  Androcles,  who  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  in  the  service  of  a  hard  and  cruel  master. 


THIRD      BOOK.  199 

And  his  slavery  was  at  last  so  bitter  to  Mm, 
that  he  resolved  to  run  away.  But  he  had  no 
friends,  and  no  other  home  than  that  where 
he  lived  in  bondage.  So  he  could  flee  no- 
where for  escape  but  to  the  lonely  woods. 
There,  hidden  amongst  pathless  wilds,  he 
thought  he  should  be  safe  from  pursuit ;  and 
as  to  the  dangers  from  hunger,  or  savage 
beasts  that  were  likely  to  attack  him  there, 
he  dreaded  them  less  than  the  iron  rod  under 
which  he  had  been  so  long  groaning.  Or  per- 
haps even  he  did  not  think  of  them  at  all, 
but  only  of  the  liberty  after  which  his  heart 
panted.  So,  one  dark  night,  he  stole  away 
when  all  the  household  was  asleep,  and  before 
the  dawn  of  day  was  already  far  off  amongst 
the  wilds  of  a  thick  forest,  which  no  human 
foot  had  ever  trod  before. 

He  was  well  used  to  hard  fare,  so  the  nuts 
and  berries  he  could  find  were  all-sufficient 
for  his  hunger.  But  after  walking  deeper 


200  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

and  deeper  into  the  forest  he  began  to  feel 
tired,  and  looking  round  for  some  place  where 
he  might  sleep  with  safety,  he  saw  very  near 
him  a  large  and  rocky  cave.  This  was  just 
the  very  thing  for  poor  Androcles,  and  going 
a  little  way  into  it,  he  lay  down  upon  a  heap 
of  dry  leaves  some  idle  wind  had  blown  there, 
and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  could  not  tell,  but 
he  was  at  last  awakened  by  a  loud  moaning, 
and  starting  up,  what  was  his  horror  to  see  at 
the  entrance  of  the  cave  a  monstrous  lion. 
This  cave  was  his  den,  as  poor  Androcles  little 
thought  when  he  took  possession  of  it.  Fear 
almost  stopped  his  breath  at  first,  and  he  stood 
trembling,  expecting  every  moment  that  the 
lion  would  spring  upon  him.  But  strange  to 
say,  the  great  creature  showed  no  desire  to  do 
so,  but  only  moaned  and  held  up  one  of  its 
forepaws,  which  it  did  not  seem  able  to  put  to 
the  ground. 


TRIED     BOOK.  201 

Androcles  by  degrees  took  heart,  and  ob- 
served that  this  paw  was  very  much  swelled, 
and  certainly  in  great  pain.  Whether  he 
found  courage  to  walk  to  the  lion,  or  whether 
the  lion  limped  towards  him,  I  do  not  re- 
member ;  but  I  know  that  at  last  he  thought 
he  would  try  to  help  the  poor  suffering  beast, 
and  taking  hold  of  the  enormous  paw,  he  saw 
that  a  very  large  thorn  was  sticking  in  the  ball 
of  the  foot.  This  it  was  which  made  the  lion 
in  such  pain ;  and  some  instinct  seemed  to  as- 
sure him  that  Androcles  would  help  him  in 
his  trouble,  and  he  sat  patiently  waiting  to  see 
what  he  would  do. 

Now  Androles  was  very  kind-hearted,  and 
had  not  been  made  hard  or  unfeeling  by  his 
own  sorrows.  So  he  forgot  all  his  fears  in  try- 
ing to  comfort  the  poor  wounded  lion,  and 
taking  hold  of  the  thorn  he  very  carefully  drew 
it  from  his  foot.  No  sooner  did  the  lion  feel 
the  cause  of  his  suffering  taken  away  than  he 


202  UNCLE   JOHN'S 

was  filled  with  joy,  and  began  to  jump  about, 
as  you  may  have  seen  a  dog  do  when  it  is 
pleased.  Poor  Androcles  thought  that  now 
he  should  certainly  be  eaten  up ;  but,  to  his 
great  surprise,  the  lion  came  and  fawned  upon 
him,  and  tried  in  every  way  to  show  his  grati- 
tude for  the  favor  he  had  received. 

However,  Androcles  felt  so  little  at  ease, 
that  he  took  the  first  opportunity  of  escaping 
from  the  den,  and  going  further  to  find  anoth- 
er shelter.  But  the  lion  was  soon  at  his  side 
again,  and  was  so  gentle  and  playful  and  lov- 
ing, that  at  last  Androcles  made  up  his  mind 
to  trust  his  grateful  companion,  and  they  went 
back  together  to  the  den.  There  for  many 
weeks  they  lived  in  the  greatest  harmony  and 
happiness,  and  poor  Androcles  found  in  the 
society  of  the  wild  beast  a  pleasure  he  had 
never  tasted  in  the  presence  of  his  fellow  men. 
Every  day  the  lion  went  out  to  forage  for 
food,  and  Androcles  always  shared  his  prey 


THIRD     BOOK.  203 

which  he  cooked  by  means  of  a  fire  kindled 
with  flints  and  dry  wood. 

But  at  last  the  lion  was  wounded  by  the 
hunters  while  out  in  search  of  food,  and  return- 
ing to  his  den  was  tracked  thither  by  the  blood 
he  shed.  There  one  of  the  hunters  seeing  An- 
drocles  knew  him  at  once  as  the  slave  that  had 
been  missed.  For  he  was  a  valuable  slave, 
and  had  been  sorely  wanted  by  his  master 
ever  since  his  flight,  and  every  thing  had  been 
done  to  find  out  where  he  was  hidden,  but  in 
vain  till  now.  So  poor  Androcles  was  carried 
back  to  the  city  he  had  left,  and  there  being 
tried  before  a  judge,  he  was  found  guilty,  and 
condemned  to  be  thrown  to  a  wild  beast ;  for 
to  run  away  was  the  greatest  crime  a  slave 
could  commit,  and  no  punishment  was  thought 
too  bad  for  it. 

Well,  he  was  put  in  prison  until  the  day 
fixed  for  his  death,  and  then  brought  into  the 
place  where  such  cruel  scenes  used  to  be  acted. 


204  UNCLE    JOHN'S 

And  a  lion,  that  had  been  kept  without  food 
for  many  days  on  purpose  that  he  might  be 
savagely  hungry,  was  let  loose  upon  him. 

Hundreds  and  hundreds  of  people  were 
gathered  round  the  spot  in  order  to  see  the 
dreadful  sight ;  but  what  was  their  wonder 
when  the  furious  lion,  who  had  sprung  eagerly 
forth  on  seeing  a  man  ready  for  him  to  devour, 
fell  tamely  down  before  Androcles  and  licked 
his  feet  with  every  sign  of  gentleness  and  love. 
For  it  was  indeed  his  own  forest  Mend  who 
had  been  brought  to  eat  him  up  ;  but  who, 
hungry  though  he  was,  would  not  harm  the 
man  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him. 

The  strange  story  spread  far  and  wide, 
and  soon  reached  the  ears  of  the  governor, 
who  ordered  the  man  and  the  lion  (who  follow- 
ed him  like  a  dog)  to  be  brought  before  him. 
And  when  he  had  heard  Androcles's  tale,  and 
seen  the  wonderful  gratitude  of  the  lion,  he 
gave  command  that  Androcles  should  be  set 


THIKD      BOOK.  205 

at  liberty,  since  the  sentence  passed  upon  Mm, 
of  being  exposed  to  a  wild  beast,  had  been 
complied  with,  and  that  the  lion  should  be 
presented  to  him  for  his  own. 


THE     TWO     AETISTS. 

Two  little  boys  were  once  amusing  them- 
selves by  drawing  on  their  slates,  after  morn- 
ing school  was  over  .They  were  both  very 
fond  of  drawing,  and  had  lessons  from  a  draw- 
ing master  twice  a  week. 

"  Robert,"  said  Charley,  "  when  I  am  a  man 
I  mean  to  go  to  Italy  ;  there  I  shall  find  such 
models  amongst  the  works  of  old  masters,  and 
the  churches,  and  temples,  and  other  build- 
ings. And  papa  says  the  sky  is  so  blue  and 
bright  there,  that  every  thing  looks  as  well 
again  as  it  does  in  this  smoky  London  ;  and  I 
mean  to  go  to  Greece  too.  O,  how  I  shall  en- 


206  UNCLE 

joy  myself  when  I  am  a  man,  and  can  go  about 
and  draw  all  day  long.  Won't  you  ? " 

"  I  hope  I  shall  enjoy  myself,"  said  Robert  ; 
"  but  I  do  not  think  I  shall  go  abroad.  For, 
since  papa's  death,  mamma  has  never  liked  to 
let  me  stay  long  out  of  her  sight.  And,  if  I 
went  abroad,  I  should  be  away  from  her  for 
a  long  while." 

"  No  ;  but  think  of  all  you  would  have  to 
show  her  when  you  came  home.  How  happy 
that  would  make  her  ! " 

"  I  think,"  said  Robert,  "  I  shall  find  plenty 
of  beautiful  things  to  draw  here.  Mamma 
says  there  are  scenes  as  lovely  here  as  heart 
can  desire,  and  she  has  promised  to  take  me 
about  with  her  to  see  my  native  country 
when  I  have  leffc  school." 

These  little  boys  grew  up.  Charley  went 
abroad,  as  he  said  he  would.  And  before  he 
went  he  very  earnestly  begged  Robert  to  go 
with  him.  But  Robert  said,  "  I  cannot  leave 


THIRD     BOOK.  20T 

my  mother.  She  is  not  strong.  I  should  like 
to  go  abroad  very  much,  and  above  all  with  you, 
dear  Charley.  But  I  must  not  and  cannot  leave 
her."  So  Charley  went,  and  Robert  stayed 
with  his  dear  mamma.  She  grew  weaker  and 
weaker,  and  they  journeyed  about  from  one 
lovely  English  scene  to  another,  and  in  each 
spot  Robert  made  his  portfolio  rich  with 
sketches.  And  Charley  profited  well  by  the 
advantages  he  enjoyed.  He  studied  hard  at 
Rome,  and  made  himself  a  first-rate  artist.  One 
day,  when  he  had  visited  Greece  and  returned 
to  Rome,  he  was  busy  over  the  details  of  some 
splendid  ruins  he  had  been  copying,  when  he 
heard  a  well-known  voice  behind  him,  and 
turning  round  he  was  in  the  arms  of  his  dear 
friend  Robert.  When  the  first  moment  of 
delight  was  over,  Charley  saw  that  his  friend 
was  in  deep  black.  He  did  not  like  to  ask  him 
the  reason  in  their  first  joyous  meeting ;  but 
when,  late  in  the  day,  they  were  sitting  looking 


208  THIKD    BOOK. 

over  each  other's  drawings  and  enjoying  the 
progress  each  had  made,  Charley  said, "  Let  me 
see  your  last ;  you  have  seen  mine."  Robert 
put  it  silently  into  his  friend's  hand.  It  was 
his  mother's  grave.  "  O,  Charley,"  said  he  at 
last,  bursting  into  tears,  "  how  thankful  I  feel 
now  that  I  never  left  her." 


THE    END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


1 4  1994 


Form  L9-lGOm-9,'52(A3105)444 


007  059  432  0 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


PZ6 
AlU51i 


